Maddi Rowe

the leaves peel from home

twisting painfully away

clutching with every fibre to stay

star-kissed courtesans after having spent heady nights and

hazy mornings licked with dew

a time where hours spread themselves across the sky

lust braided in the clouds

all that is left of it is

mint growing through woodwork, wet bath mats and

shivering in lamp-lit havens

hands like 67% alcohol

passive hugs by the kitchen sink

a propensity to avoid apologising.

the leaves litter the driveway

the cries of capulets as rain presses them down

forces its cool tongue against their necks

gone are lust-laced skies and warm, berried breath

a propensity to scowl in the face of eager wooden fingertips.

star-kissed courtesans cry

to the tune of ashen rain.

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