Talking to P

who speaks to G

of things I do not

understand

for my average brain

stands on its head

seeing frames topsy turvy

trying to fit in

and failing

and wailing

and walking

away

from wearing

rose tinted glasses.

P is good.

P is a little girl

inside the labyrinth

of the woman I love

or should I say

a room within a room

within a room.

And G speaks of songs

in the night sky.