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Grey Sparrow Journal

Issue 30, July 31, 2017
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Mercy
 
 
 
When the peonies
ask for forgiveness
 
they shed their petals
in the glorious sun
 
one at a time,
sweet as the cowbell
 
in the far-off field
that bows the head
 
from a weighty
clapper. You my dear
 
are the third
degree burn
 
that peels the skin
from a heated tongue
 
your voice unchaste
with a hint of chocolate-
 
and I have learned
the power of suffering
 
marooned without you
my nectar sucked dry.

           -Carol Lynn Grellas
 
Tainted Blend
 

 
May I have a dirty martini please?
I’d like to roll the olives back
between my tonsils, balanced there,
 
under the influence of brine juice
and gin while murmuring words that become
undecipherable through the hum
 
of dry vermouth, stir the ingredients
like a cocktail shaker, serve you chilled;
so icy-nice until you quiver and beg
 
for mercy, just enough time to spit
out the pit, say I love you, in three
different languages, a head cocked maven,
 
like Ava Gardner in her famous pose;
your very own Venus with a dash
of wicked and shocking thrown in.

                                        -Carol Lynn Grellas