L'ange Poem by Robert Dummett

Sweep each morning, sweep
where hundreds trample day and night
the entrance to the restaurant.
Yes, as usual, you were there,
broom in hand, doing this chore
when our eyes met
through the open door,
and current swept through you and me.
Shocked, we stood transfixed
until you flipped the switch
and turned away,
leaving me volted by watts
my heart received
when first we met.
This was the prelude to a quake
that was to shake
the innocence from my 17 years,
and teach me not to stand
in eager anticipation
uncertain in a cause.
I had learnt this lesson well
when 6 years later we met again.
I stood outside while rain
dribbled down between your lips,
and you whispered....
'Experience.'