In the Doorway of Her Smile

She stood in the doorway of her smile,
Wordlessly asked me in;
I opened my mouth to reply, but she
Hopped over and entered.
If you were to lift off the top of my skull,
You’d see her making a home in my head,
Blowing the dust out of corners,
Drawing on the back of abandoned manuscripts,
Turning friends’ photos and postcards into collages,
At night curling up in a nest of yellowed newspaper clippings.
I wish her well. My head has been empty too long!
But... does she realise there are stairs down?