Two Poems by John Grey

4afed09d238d68adecf2e05757314b90

My Visit

Rain falls.

I prowl.

Light slips away from the mansion wall.

I replace it, a singular bat-like thing

flanging the shadow of its skin

like a cape.

Wind struggles with a window.

I flick it open like an eye.

Darkness halts at the tip of her cheek,

shunned by beauty.

I plunge, bolt down my sigh

frenzied as lightning.

Night wants no part of it.

I indulge like the child

abandoned by my dark genius,

lick the mountains of her breasts,

thrill to the jerky confusion

of her thighs.

billow in the deepest angles

of her gorgeous neck

before parachuting into veins,

fangs first,

crashing the silence

with electric feasting,

blood’s sensuous liquor

dulling my senses

like a dream,

its warmth teasing my grey existence

into a churning, pulsing fever of life,

nostrils flaring wider than stallions,

feelings flung outward like new stars,

head bursting its bony backdrop

as light bombards the searing shards

of its own eruption.

Visitor

curtains flicker,

that shudder

familiar as moon-spray,

a reunion almost

look up at the soft

applause of light,

the skin’s piano keys

tingling a welcome song

shadows co-conspire,

provide you with a lover,

brief on splendor,

but generous with the dark

cold hands

invent new ways to warm you

flaming red eyes absorb

the distance between

hunger and blood

By John Grey

John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident. Recently published in New Plains Review, Big Muddy and Spindrift with work upcoming in South Carolina Review, Gargoyle, Sanskrit and Louisiana Literature.  

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s