A Poem: Herbalist Breakup (Adult Content Warning)

She left Urtica dioica on the porch swing,
oak steps creaked from her departure
like grandpa's spine under pressure
from grandma's biker boots. Pops of gravel
as she sprinted down the road dissipated
under a nasty moon blushing red with thoughts
of the sun spurting flares across its face. I sat
on the opposite side of the batch of peridot plants.
No mettle to touch them. Burning nettle tea scratches 
my throat like a leopard anticipating love in death.
The barn stretched behind me, bathing me in black.

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