Whole Lotta Love

Making love to Led Zep II
I look down the shallows
of my naked body, admire
the wanton V of my legs
either side of your head
and remember a shy girl,
velvet loons and patchouli oil,
who dreamed of being a woman
brave enough to slip backstage
and get it on with Robert Plant,
all scary sexy hair and belly.
That bluesy graveyard voice
those road-digger riffs get me
reliving the thrill
of a flat in York Road,
acid orange walls,
Red Leb scented carpets.
But for all that I'm grinding
like a groupie I can't come
and you don't want the cliché
of coming during the drum solo
on 'Moby Dick'. Forty three
minutes later, sweaty, spent
you cup my face and say:
baby, that's why they invented punk.