I do not think she would even understand the reference.
She would just smile, this girl with vacant eyes,
as she has done all day, as he shoots her photo against the soft white sky.
She does not even sense the approaching storm.
A secluded spot I’d choose amidst brown trees, not sky,
to frame that willowy form. I would see lightening dance in red hair
and rain spill down pale flesh to drip from those bared breasts.
He notices them more so than mine but so would any man he says.
She is Leda, and he is Jupiter’s swan.
Or am I? It doesn’t matter.
She glances at me, and all I can do is smile.