The words are from one of my very first poems, written when I was 16

Desire is the asp
Is the twisting
In my breast
She changes, Time and
Space, or else
Not here to change

Love was always reaching:
Chubby hands that grasped
An apron as it passes.
And when the fingers were strong
Brown lined, agile
Around your pillow templed head
Your eyes eluded me.

The appeal of appealing
Eyes, that vacuous
Kiss of fire, desire
Is not there or
Then, but in

Peter Jukes 1977


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