I'm wondering if this poem speaks for itself. In case it doesn't, there is nothing hotter than the footage of Robert Plant writhing on the stage of Madison Square Garden in 1973. He seems to be a combination of both male and female sexual energy. (His golden stomach and long hair and posturing). I can picture the millions of girls watching, the removed longing, the safe space of sexual admiration that only teen idols and their fans seem to create and re-create every generation.
Robert Plant's Stomach, 1973 Madison Square Garden
Across the slick madness
of young desire
I thought of you, your picture,
so many quiet breaths
between the years,
when men weren’t real to me,
yet lit up like Apollo
under my burning hand.
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