Mangrove Love
You know how it is,
the love walk through the swamp,
abandoning the car
where the ground is still solid enough,
and then strolling softly, slowly,
in thick, cypress night,
sneakers crushing snake skins,
maybe an abandoned turtle shell,
playing leap frog with frogs,
wondering all the while
do 'gators come out at night.
We strip naked in some mossy place,
wrap around each other
while mosquitoes bite,
copperheads hiss between
blades of bladderwort,
salamanders crawl from
nature's putrid wreckage,
attracted by the smell of our passion.
and all the while,
we imagine the truth of the matter
exposed by a giant hypnotic 'gator eye,
our feelings slipping out beyond
the boundaries of this
simple carnal melt-down,
looking deep into wide 'gator jaws,
these kisses devouring us
with big 'gator teeth,
our thighs cracked open
by a scaly whip-like 'gator tail,
After a few breaths of this,
it's no longer the love
(if it ever was),
no longer even the classic
undisturbed accouterments of lust.
It's the crackle of insects,
the screech of owls,
the mating cry of darkness,
the bellow of the night.
It's what'd pass for company
if it weren't for us.
~ John Grey has been published recently in Agni, Worcester Review, South Carolina Review and The Pedestal with work upcoming in Poetry East and Cape Rock.