The Blinds

I sleep beside a window

covered with broken blinds

that never seem to completely cover

the glass.

I don’t mind because I change

at the foot of my bed anyway.

Tonight these twisted blinds

remind me of you:

uncooperative, a little broken, disheveled

and real.

I never wanted perfection

and you’re more than happy to not give it.

You with your contraband coffee maker

and me with my hidden stash of Easter candy

I refuse to share, even with you.

I wanted to walk the cold, wet grass

because I thought that might make this easier

with the chill as a logical excuse

for my shivers.

It’s just as well it didn’t pan out.

It’s a little too “romantic comedy”

for the two of us.

The breeze slaps the blinds against

the dark window

and I think that, maybe,

we might be getting close

to what I need to know

before it’s okay to accept you.