John Grey
Says
she says:
leery as you are
regarding pleasure,
you can smooth me over,
do me in,
butter me up
go back on your principles,
apply all you’ve learned through wet dreaming,
envelope me in your warm embrace
follow my lead,
and don’t worry,
every piece of each of us
will end up somewhere,
decisively so in some quarters,
and I may even swallow
what you spit at me.
he says:
just let me know
and I’ll apply the brakes,
remember this is more than just my lust,
somewhere here is my wholeness
as long as it doesn’t smell too much
like fish,
and why should my longings end up stranded
when you’re so willing to rescue them,
my dearest sensual beacon.
with your braided hair,
and weird geometry…
yes, I can lose myself in these.
they say:
our air heads
our crushing sense of passion,
this beckoning, scary as it seems,
the twitch and gleam,
the eyes so glowingly bewildered,
it’s fine enough to settle on
as a way forward,
if we throw in some tender petals,
ignore the pain in the nether regions,
the blurry lines between love and sex,
the rough edges where sweat bursts clear.
No Surprise is the Best Surprise
Your parents are back together.
You and your three sisters
can’t disguise the exhilaration
but nor can you understand
why the two separated in the first place.
They love each other.
It says so in the letters she’s kept.
And in the photographs
that adorn every mantle,
dresser and wall in the house,
before and after kids show up
in the frame.
You even peeked at them kissing.
At their age.
And hugging despite you
being in the same room.
There must be something
you don’t understand as yet,
can’t imagine.
Like the house you live in
suddenly wrecked by an earthquake.
Or the mailman dropping dead
on your front doorstep.
So, for all your joy,
you watch for signs.
Everything seems so solid,
so constant.
So how do
unforeseen circumstances
get away with it.
