It's Every Man for Himself Leaving Every Woman To Form Their Own Conclusions by Colin James

Chinhoyi Caves, Zimbabwe

The trees had taken to the skys
unearthing innumerable cave like holes.
Many were unsuitable as residences
lacking in cushioned sleeping quarters,
access to clean drinking water and
a rear entrance for emergencies.
Yes, I'm talking about anal sex. Why
do I always have to explain everything?

Body in the River by John Grey

Found Drowned by George Frederic Watts 

She’s wedged between rocks,
her body caching then unloading
the current on either side.

Blown shoreward by winds,
her perfumes could snare
lovers from miles around
but putrefaction soon puts a stop to that.

Some come to the banks anyway,
are drawn to the history in her pale blue face,
leave unmasked and naked.

As they retreat,
their whispers echo and ripple,
nibble like fish on her flesh.

Trees overhang.
Light peers through.
There’s no one to claim her
but shadow and shine.

*****

John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident. Recently published in Transcend, Dalhousie Review and Qwerty with work upcoming in Blueline, Hawaii Pacific Review and Clade Song.