Queenie

If I’m not too late, I’ll see it through, each evening by your gate, down fallen roads, my mother states be true, but she doesn't know, your love traits, our trips to secret venues, the odour of purple grapes, I’m lucky to allow, by church reason and virtue, all you won’t swallow, in this land of hate, make me swoon, trust me to say, I melt by your bones, swept lemon blue, everywhere I’ll follow, in times of this trouble.