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2nd prize - 2013

Photograph of Stella Jones

More misted places than stated often tactile sometimes tasted Stella Jones' poetry is intangibles - somewhere between hope and velvet, smoke in the air, a distant drum beyond the ear felt through the heart, you'll sense its essence; yet struggle to define it. (Biography written by Christopher Coey, poet and friend.)

In the Summertime by Stella Jones

The night furls about my waist,
traces down thighs
names me fool.
I shall bathe with scented oil,
smile a young woman's smile
and we shall be different
marked by no special like or dislike.
Your kiss may ruin my life.
Stretch out those fingers,
take care with your touch
before saving me to memory.
For a time we will live under
fragments of sun, whilst others
rest with covered heads.
I shall order heat, warm skin,
  red wine.
And you will not be late.




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