Yolk

Light-struck as egg shells
fracturing in woolly heat,
a cheeping beak breaks forth
scenting balmy air:
swirls of hyacinths waft
in warm, hour-less days –
where rebellious time
refuses numbers. 

Today is a rotated sand timer
perpetually spinning
on weightless,
unclouded wings…
Sunlit days are halcyon yokes:
protein rich; 
an epicentre.

Viscous yellow streams
flow, bountiful as third trimesters;
fruition harvests, swells
dissipating its wares:
blossom-kissed apples tumble
nurtured by sunflower rays –
inner seeds are yolk-like futures,
floating on potentiality. 

Daffodil hearts pulse custard warmth –
inviting interest: piqued looks;
yolky heads dance, sway –
Wordsworth-proud;
luscious pastel yellows 
fan as sun-lit peacocks, stretching tall. 

The sun’s a yolk:
the best sort –
its pulsing rays are golden;
metallic edges 
where goddesses bask,
soaking gilded electrons –
yolky yet supercharged 
as a five foetus pregnancy. 

Our lives track yolk:
a yellowy completeness 
that coats our skin resplendently 
like vintage rich furs;
pearls of wisdom;
sapphires that talk of the sea;
all hold yolky balms:
a medicinal magic.

Emma Wells is an English teacher and a mother to a six year old daughter. She writes poetry and short stories as she enjoys the creative freedom that it allows. She has been writing creatively for nearly two years. She has poetry published with the following literary journals, anthologies and magazines: The World’s Greatest Anthology, The League of Poets, The Lake, The Beckindale Poetry Journal, Dreich Magazine, Drunken Pen Writing, Visual Verse, Littoral Magazine, Derailleur Press and as part of the Ledbury Poetry Festival.