Her mind is a strange old place,
complete with song and darkness
with beautiful stained glass windows
throwing light onto concrete,
carpet and dusty corners.
She keeps it tidy in the simplest sense
The past in boxes and the future
is kept on ice in a cool box
too large for the space it occupies,
but present debris litters most halls.
Vast, echoey statements
with painted ceilings, frescoed walls
strewn across concrete and carpet.
She has stitches from the hard surfaces
burns from the soft,
in her mind where vaulted fantasies
do not marry the promises, hopes and demons at her feet.
Her mind is a strange old place
bursting with beautiful blooms
and the emptiness of grey plaster.
Regardless, as flesh and blood she continues
to reach for a like-mind,
with whom she can renovate the space.