Rasping upwards
Could do with a bit
of rain, the sky a broken crayon
the end of orange
and black chewed through
heaven a bite of
blue and heavy slate grey. A few specks
against the pane, washing hanging densely on
the line an imprint
of falling dark, patch of tears—a pear
a peach, the wet
tongue of a koala licking runnels from
the trunk.
Rain falling; sleek wet, a dirt cigarette
ash under feet—this
harsh embrace.
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