Milady Gay, whose
Breath is like a sin,
A sin, to sit upon
The light within,
Within;

The light that fractures
Forces, foreswears
The race we run –
While wracked, backed and put upon
We face the face we
Trace our stencils in;
And vent our sated discontent
By pencilling our demons in.

Milady Gay, see
Not the sin in sin!
For love, lust, life, sight
Shine brightly in
The times we briefly spin;
While touch, taste, pace
Haste and promise deal
With chastity at last,
And love’s hood delights all
In tight cauls at life’s kiln.

David Lewis Paget