Poetry

John Whitworth: Four Poems

Love at First Sight in Edinburgh   September rain in Princes Street, Crowblack umbrellas, splashing feet. I wore my collar up and you Were running for a 22.   I’m on that bus, drenched with the weather, And see you running hell-for-leather. You grab the pole and swing aboard, White teeth and laughing eyes. Sweet Lord,   Your golden summer scents the breeze, I am enamoured of your knees. Whoever loved who loved not at First sight? I saw and that was that.   I kissed your grinful, sinful mouth, Your East, your West, your North, your South, So supercharged…

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