some things are meant to be secret

secret

Deep in the scented room
a traveler’s balmy hands

part the swollen lips
of a woman he calls a friend.

Her face is buried
in the duck filled pillow.

She cannot see
the eastern grey squirrel

foraging the lawn between
the stands of trees.

They rhythmically ride
their bodies pipe hot –

attracting a host
of midge-like flies.