Priscilla

Pushing back the cuticle
for some catharsis,
shaping a little crescent moon.
Curling lashes with flashes
of expectations, to catch your eye.
Maybe you should marry me,
a fixer-upper, but a sprightly thing.
Maybe my temporary beauty
can cause permanent love.
For each night I lie wide awake
I promise a lifetime of catharsis.
In your room, where nothing
belongs to me, I can be another keepsake.
Just give me a chance to shine.

Just Things