Sour Clementines

A windmill is a spinning pie but no one gets a slice

Yellow-painted horn bemoans it's nothing to be nice

But the mayor has put a fence around the pittance of a park

To shore us from the venom of the serpentine at dark

Ghosts among the vetiver green roots of Indian grass smells woody earthy lovely high above the overpass

Sour clementines and pine the two step back again in time

When there was that one crush He never learned those wicked thoughts of mine

I dreamed he was a lover lover

I dreamed he was a friend lover

I dreamed a dream that when he moved away he would come back again