Email Poem

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Poem	How I love the working-class girls of Leeds, Their mile-wide smiles, eyes bright as beads, Their young breasts bobbing as they run, Hands quick as darting fish, lithe legs Bare as they scramble over the Hollows With brown-soled feet and dimpled bums Half-covered with knickers, and short frocks Full of flowers and their delicate ears, Perfect teeth and flickering tongues, the Fragile bones of their cheeks, the soft Sweetness of their soprano voices dying Away into the unforgotten magenta and Yellow-ochre of innumerable twilights.
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