Gravy Licks

Dave Davies slaves on his guitar melody waves,
Makes his gravy licks slick, with finger pricks and strums,
A rhythm like tribal drums,
There’s a beat that mimics the tapping of his feet,
No bums on seats for everyone stands,
They’re clapping hands caught by euphoric contrabands,
Or maybe just joyous neuron electrics and their strands.

With a passive head bashing,
They're thrashing and splashing,
Drowning in the honey that they’re swimming in,
A runny orgasmic kind of sin,
They grin and move to the grove that occupies their skin,
It’s a liquid that soothes those nebulous tubes to infuse within,
The blues that ooze from sweat head to socked shoes,
Where energy and peace produce more synergy then they use.

Dave chews on the cords to release their flavour,
On tasty sounds that he sucks on to savour,
It’s such a sensual pleasure,
A zest for your listening leisure,
A treasure in your chest to cover the endorphin’s expenses,
Sunken trove into your senses.

Dazed with drunken music booze,
Multi hazes and faceted hues,
Awakening the magic music muse,
She stirs in wisps of mist that contort and concave,
Insights Dave to bend the octaves inside out,
Their liquid soothes and are as smooth as felt,
And the muse levitates like rising pollen and music notes,
Resonating off columns in the acoustics as it floats,
Like echoes in archaic caves,
It shakes the architrave,
But still within there’s peace and harmony,
A one man symphony.


It is A to Z,
It is Zen to a spirit finally free,
A calmative melody,
It reeks of sexes,
It peeks and vexes,
Becomes internal,
External even, odd, eternal, reversal,
A universal bang,
Yin and Yang,
In the corner somebody sang.

The music was contagious, infective,
It had caused a reverie in the body collective,
Entrancing the people dancing as their bodies grow like trees,
And weaved leaves and branches like fingers in a breeze,
As they bear their souls and reach for the night above,
Dave Davies’ music enraptures and preaches of lust and love.

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