What might be forest green sheets
may be forest green leaves
that she lies on, silently slicing
thin whispers of cheese.
Secrets are in her curves,
under the skirt hitched up
over her ass and climbing
the rungs of her spine.
She is a silent girl
without motion, perhaps
just a woman, so
there is no need
for whispers of cheese
thinned off in slices,
or bugs.
Yet there are bugs: spiders,
flies, things she might expect
in a forest, or occasionally
unwelcomed on sheets.
Behind her, a fly swatter
hovers over the scene
like an albino STOP sign
poised in a muscular hand.
It counts the ways to come
down on covers or leaves
or her or a spider
just within reach.
Her gaze is stagnant,
studies secrets of cheese,
slices of curves, lullaby
of bugs and whispery dresses.
Sheets or leaves on her skin.
she sings:
Can't live with men
Can't live with bugs
Can't be where they've been
Can't see what they've done