Turns – Stephanie Johns

Turns

Beached on white Formica

Am I allowed to touch your shell like forms

So beautifully created

In glass?

I want to touch you, run my fingers round you,

Hold you up so light flows through you,

Feel, in my hand

That hard fragility born of blistering heat

And the skill of she who knows and can control

The blaze of your viscosity.

A twist, a turn, a flourish

And it’s done.

Stephanie Johns