The curtain is an alien:
The patterns, they are merely camouflage
For its multi-sensory body.
The birds thereon are peering into my soul;
The flowers conduct my thoughts to the mothership;
The unusual objects shaped like starfish and teeth
Are there to capture my attention
And make me love it.
I can almost hear it, unable to move
Unless it is windy, struggling to reach me.
Ineffective, it consoles itself
With blocking out the light
In the hope I will notice it.