Nobody Takes Romeo Seriously Anymore

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Nobody takes Romeo seriously anymore.
‘He’s always tumbling
  head over heels–’
‘…some new piece I heard,
sleeps so much she was believed dead–’
and Juliet forgets on purpose
  to draw the curtains,
bath-towelled and dripping,
  circling under her balcony,
waiting for a glimpse
of bare arse,
  thighs rippling
cool as milk, or perhaps
  the brown nut of her nipple
popped from the top of her towel.

A rose by any other name she said,
having read too many sonnets–
  nuzzled his name
into his neck
as he pressed her to the railings
of her wrought-iron balcony
  right under Daddy’s nose–
dropped her hair like Rapunzel,
seized the silk ropes in his fists
  and told her after a day
I love you. The Capulet girl
being only fourteen,
  mistaking her hormones for love
followed him into a church vault
beside the sighing cherubim
  and Azrael in the dark.

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