Who is this sloth-girl?
Sprawled out over velvet rivers
and memory foam meadows
She bares all of her legs
all of her breasts
all of the skin that she has
is becoming a part of her throne

The Queen of Apathy
crowned with a haze of dreams
she won’t remember:
The lazy lace she wears
isn’t even trying to
cover a perfectly good
ass.
There’s no one around
to notice.

On a good day
after struggling from the grasp
of plush vines
and silky anacondas

She’ll look at herself
dishevelled and luxurious
paw wispy bangs away
and croak-wonder
Who is this sloth-girl?