blindfold

He wished for curtains,
so that he could swing them closed
like eyelids with tassel lashes,
to keep the moonlight from
invading his sleep-seduced body.

(Crouched, head buried into knees,
hands in weakened prayer.)

They would frame the sunlit glass,
(when the sun awoke, arms outstretched,
translucent fingers that stroked clouds)
with the silhouette of the city,
faint and far, peering into the room,
and the hand-print of a lover smudged into the color.
If the curtains parted, he would glance down,
and see the scratches the ladder left on the windowsill.

Instead the tassels were made of rusted iron,
and the glass was tinted black.