In my warm bed,
I was having sex
with an angel
named Gabriel
His wings were not soft;
his skin was.
Or, did I stup
Peter Gabriel of Genesis,
circa 1973,
while he was in his
cult music getup
he would wear a flower head on stage, his face white with black-lined eyes. Was he ever an angel?
His older self,
bald in a black turtleneck,
worldly, powerful,
sans wings and white makeup
tucked me in bed tight
so
I could sleep soundly
without
shocking the monkey
with a
sledgehammer
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