And Now

the hug, the need for necking

cuddling, collecting kisses

up and down legs to shiver

a river of love. To whisk

my skin with your skin again

and again, a madrigal

of our beings lilting long tones,

honing joy inside our skulls.

Hear the sift of desert sand.

Banish anger to the wind

that blushes bougainvillea,

rushes up the canyon, sinks

inside the stream. Yes and now

we know the way how. The song

of bodies harmonizes,

rises, livens, makes us strong.

---

Fluid Muscles

We have found the zone

where love re-loves. 

My fingers sweep your back:

water-soft your skin

along your calves and thighs.,

oboe-smooth, what Mozart

composed. Here is how snow

feathers on snow. Our bodies

know how blossoms ripen

sweet meat into song.

BIO:

John Davis is the author of Gigs, Guard the Dead and The Reservist. His work has appeared in DMQ Review, Iron Horse Literary Review and Terrain.org. He lives on an island in the Salish Sea and performs in several bands.