in parentheses

Emma Wells is a mother and English teacher. She has poetry published with various literary journals and magazines. She enjoys writing flash fiction and short stories also. Her debut novel, Shelley’s Sisterhood, is due to be published in 2023. 

Works by E. Wells have been previously featured on In Parentheses.

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She

Urges pull, swell –
she kicks unseen, unknown.
A pomegranate seed blooms
to full fruition;
her ruby wares
are gems of fiction.

A beautiful chaos awaits –
maddening sleepless nights,
fractious minds, arduous work;
afternoon slumbers with curled fingers
latched to yours, leaking comfort.
A calming bond, lifetime pact is pledged.

She.
All that matters. Counts.

Her prose forms, evolves –
a poised riddle rests unspoken
on her lips; a timeless moral
tinkers on a communicative horizon.

She sees, knows who you are;
her gaze reaches beyond –
pierces, shaping your unformed soul,
stretching it like coloured PlayDoh,
forming a painted, spongy paradise.

No adult filter distils or softens
her realist, discordant, trill-like message.
Clear. Unparalleled.

Eyelids waver, fluttering, on formation’s wing;
a retained, untutored wisdom
lies imprinted on infinitesimal,
knowing pupils – the darkened orbs of God.
Unquestioningly knowing, she sees
worth, soul, an empty heart space;
she clears it of inner demons –
creating a timeless, bountiful love;
it stands tip-toe proud –
breaking canopy shade.

I watch her rising, falling chest,
entwine my breaths to hers:
we merge, form a shared being.

Love unknown (fully) until now,
waves a greeting, beckons me closer.
I fall with no abandon –
to cavernous depths,
plummet willingly,
with no harness…

…nearing completion
with each,
curious, Alice step…

Let me drink endless cups
of Mad Hatter tea,
losing myself within heady potency;
swimming amidst sugary tides,
buoyant upon boundless seas.

She beckons me closer,
reaches for the shore;
her tiny hand, an unthinking compass,
guiding me home.

Edges

Crease lines course,
navigating me to shore,
sun-baked, toasted cinnamon;
love’s buoyant raft
flirts in frothy surf,
frolicsome candy-floss puffs,
form curved, oceanic edges.

Sinuous fibres catch my adoring eye,
like glossy gossamer;
their lustre shines,
inviting my ardent gaze.

She lays, sun-kissed,
honey-brown,
hazelnut-whipped,
a decadent morsel.

I lay heated kisses
upon cocoa butter smoothness;
relishing love-drunk, cleansing aromas.

I drink mouthfuls –
drowning in floral, feminine notes,
brimming over breathing holes.

Aquiline caresses summon each fingertip;
searching for ember-warm nooks-
falling head-first into timeless caverns,
echoes of me –
resound, bounce, fade…

Feelings flutter, on formation’s wing;
touching elysian edges,
bristling liquid gold;
it drips across downy wings,
patterning with Aztec markings.

A Sphinx-like worship surrounds:
feather-tipped softness,
pyramidal precision,
golden specks enshrine
like gilded, crowned swans.

Fermenting, brewing surf decries –
my leaving card marked,
too opulent is my stay.

Oceanic waves, darkening depths
await my fleshy self;
salt-tinged, brackish swells coat,
engulfing my longing, loving skin.

She swallows me whole
like a decadent oyster;
saline secretions swim, awakened;
bejewelled irresistibility
clawing my maritime lips.

I slip away, unfelt.

Velvet

Midnight tones hush,
sway me in a lullaby;
I rest: almost home,
touching the welcome mat
with an outstretched toe.

Its coarseness shocks,
scratching my veneers bare:
unforgivingly heartless;
it propels me from its door –
luminous, dancing light fades,
shutting out my fractious heartbeat.

The door closes,
Pushing me out peripheral edges.
Shunned.

I seek warmth
yet I’m shackled
by my burning brain,
making my footsteps heatedly heavy…

I cry out for velvet completion,
holler like an enraged lunatic
at smug, mocking stars;
they sit so prim,
nestled like downy chicks,
encased within secure, velvety folds –
each one slumbers sweetly,
woven into the arms
of an outstretched gothic sky.

I watch glowing embers,
(fires not meant for me)
where lovers entwine
like ribbons in plaits.
They sit on sofas,
velvety smooth,
losing identities
in cavernous hollows,
forgetting singularity.

Now, too lost in eons
of unmeasured velvet:
wrapping their duped flesh
in uncountable layers:
each one adds a forgetfulness
like a seducing sedative.

No coarseness bristles them,
no dying light has power.
My face turns away,
drenched in melancholy;
it drips with no abandon,
soaking tattered tendrils of me.

I plunder to darker depths –
hanging to torn velvet shreds;
they dangle like jagged icicles…
…stretching to Earth.

Velvety heaven keeps me looking up…
tethered on starless jaws.

I cling…
…to a velvet hand,
still cherishing its warmth.

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