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Ray Jones


Swansea, Wales, UK

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My Morning Vision


Ray Jones

My morning vision is hovering again five years in,
The warm night’s pouring pause awoke
And follicle furrows housed you again,
Just moments ago your form was filling
Flowing milk announced your shin

Then a pulsing four-part portal hard-boiled me in my shell,
I slid, clutched and coiled in the heat, only later
Scraping back slumber to find no white salt in my sheets

There reflections mercury migrates,
To your slower hairs and shoulder blades,
As they submerge horizontally,
Into creeping fluid that suggests only seven years hell,
I am afforded no pause as your soft talon scalpel-seals my swelling cell