English; well spoken;
an auburn bob.
By a King's Cross kiosk
she asks if I want
'Services'.
No man ungay is immune.
I duck my head, lips pursed
spirit level straight
as an orifice itches: curiosity.
Urban fox
from pedigree. Addiction?
College fees?
For your sake, be a clipper.
Run for it.
Your name is an unexploded mine.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem