My Cardboard Balcony

When My Wife Is Home by Belinda Roddie I like it when my wife is home I like it when she's next to me as we both drink a cup of tea a brew to put fire in our bones I just can't stand being alone I like it when my wife is home I like it when my wife is home Her bright smile warms me inside out Without a shadow of a doubt she subdues all my cheap syndromes My heart is just as light as foam I like it when my wife is home I like it when my wife is home and I can't get enough of her The night quickly becomes a blur until I rest dead as a stone She pulls me from my combat zone I like it when my wife is home My brain idles in threats and groans subjecting me to anxious dreams She stitches up my ripping seams and kisses every scar that's grown She's peace among chaos unknown I like it when my wife is home She cradles me when I can't sleep forgives each promise I don't keep No queen deserves a better throne I like it when my wife is

I wonder how much reflecting I can really do without a mirror. When I'm staring at the glass, every blemish is so plainly clear. I can count the bumps that form the constellations on my weathered skin. If only they were bright as stars instead of being ugly as sin. Perhaps I would much rather reflect in front of a murky pond or lake. At least my face would be blurrier, and my self-confidence wouldn't shake.