the forest and the mirror

below the reflection room lies the forgotten forest,
with it's ruined walls and closed doors,
which if tempted to open, might force you to fall
for a floor or two.

from red brick to blue paint as buildings revised,
it's a sombre sight, and such feats (whilst great)
have not quite halted the roots
which took hold when we were not watching.

their secret beauty takes tiredness away
and returns with wonder. inside,
the swedish girl finds the same wonder in
my wavy fingers - we're jigsaw people.

i linger upon strands of stray hair,
escapee spaghetti flees the window-frame.
i take on the role of cartographer,
trace map lines of veins and marvel in shame.

i see strong calves and feel thick skin like set jelly,
it's comforting, but my throat is exposed.
there is confusion in my right leg and
clarity in my left arm,

but the two can never meet in the middle?
instead, i swing between, a pendulum, as ever.

sighing with this i visualise
the city-forest outside,
i could kiss that freedom -

flying down from the third floor,
and i'm in just the right mood to
join jungle heathens.