The thighs have it, all quivering and sweaty,
bubbling under fire like a planet about to be
violently born, but held back by skin
and bone and the bed beneath.
I’m here for love but I’ll take its hot sister.
this writhing wanting panting body,
face flushed, volcano breasts,
aching for all comers.
Sometimes a man must go where
reason cannot take him,
moaning and mashing,
crash-landing his brain in fiery kisses.
Sex … any more primal and we’d be
bubbling fluid, toxic gas, blistering space dust.
All done, we hold each other tight
like the Earth must have done in its infancy.
John Grey is an Australian born poet. Recently published in The Lyric, Vallum and the science fiction anthology, “The Kennedy Curse” with work upcoming in Bryant Literary Magazine, Natural Bridge, Southern California Review and the Oyez Review.