John McCullough
Dragons
Empty railway carriages
fill our afternoon,
your breath smoky from winter
as you clump through each door.
Your left arm is tattooed,
boasts a red dragon now cooled
to the pink of your lip.
Your grin opens.
Quick eyes,
bare hands on my zip.
fill our afternoon,
your breath smoky from winter
as you clump through each door.
Your left arm is tattooed,
boasts a red dragon now cooled
to the pink of your lip.
Your grin opens.
Quick eyes,
bare hands on my zip.
Page(s) 21
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- Lamport Court
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- North, The
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- Paper, The
- Pen Pusher Magazine
- Poetry Cornwall
- Poetry London
- Poetry London (1951)
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- Poetry Review, The
- Poetry Salzburg Review
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- Private Tutor
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- Review, The
- Rialto, The
- Second Aeon
- Seventh Quarry, The
- Shearsman
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- South
- Staple
- Strange Faeces
- Tabla Book of New Verse, The
- Thumbscrew
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- Ugly Tree, The
- Weyfarers
- Wolf, The
- Yellow Crane, The