I long to whisper to you
“My name is legion”
when you bend down to kiss me.
If something’s to fly out
at the touch of your lips
why not demons and devils.
Why scour out old fossils like love
when terror and stress breed like banshees,
battle in my head.
Tenderness
is for the flesh-coddlers,
the sap-suckers.
Give me exorcisms
at the tongue tip,
flailing, writhing
spit-beasts
busting through the jaw.
Don’t sigh.
Scream.
I want you to tremble
with the fear of the devil.
If you love me,
promise me that much.
John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in Sheepshead Review, Stand, Poetry Salzburg Review and Red Weather. Latest books, Covert, Memory Outside The Head, and Guest Of Myself are available through Amazon. Work upcoming in Washington Square Review and Open Ceilings.
Published 10/27/22
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