(22.11.1944 / Nottingham, England/live in Australia)

poet David Lewis Paget
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Angel Head

Love is some trick
You play on me,
Some sleight, some glance,
Tenacity!
You tumble the sheets
At my marriage bed
And ride with me, desperately
Angel Head.

Caught at your eyes,
Your thighs, your touch,
I ramp at your sighs
Your cries – Enough!
Then drown in lips
That would raise me, dead,
And sleep at you breathlessly,
Angel Head.

17 April 1987

Submitted: Saturday, September 17, 2005
Edited: Monday, November 03, 2008

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