Eyelashes

Of all things.
I never would have suspected.
My eyelashes.
He has a thing for my eyelashes.

You look at them.
Not the sort of eyelashes people normally admire.
They're short.
Sparse.
Hidden by the folds of my sagging, aging eyes.
Light, yes, but not a magical pale.

And yet.

As I looked up into his face
in the middle of one of my prize-winning blowjobs.
As he looked down
into the face of his mistress,
he saw my eyelashes
the way no one else ever has.
The way he has seen
everything about me
the way no one else ever has.

And one by one,
part by part,
he teaches me to see,
he teaches me to know,
he teaches me to
accept
that I am beautful.

The eyelashes are a bit of a stretch.

I'm working on it, though.