a house wreathed with cobwebs
and love letters turned to mud
behind unwashed curtains
and one last ticking clock,
creaking thunder and a rising breeze,
chance sat on the shoulders of the couple
who hand in hand
washed in rain,
where rings of secret words whispered,
blinked as if stardust clung to eyelids
afternoon fragrance of apples
from nearby orchard
ripe waiting to be picked
and placed in basket,
within those walls he saw them
bite flesh letting juice
run over lips as they embrace,
but they would share with a nest
of memories and swept away brutality,
no stars would shine inside,
and it would be clever to reside
with those ghosts without rest
Wordle 129
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