There are no rose petals on her bed,
no scented candles on her table.
She has no cat tattoo on her shoulder,
no hand prints drawn on her hips.
There are no pianos playing in her foyer,
no saxophones soothing her late afternoons.
I suspect there are no dragons at her gate,
nor knights to shoo them away.
But I can't say for sure, and
from this distance,
there's no way to know.