Quantilla

If i'm not too late, i'll dance with you, each evening by your gate, swept by your ribbons, melted lemon blue, your yellow hair and whispers, down fallen roads, my mother says only be true, but she doesn't know, your love and mine, our trips to secret venues, flowers smell like wine, i'm lucky in love, no church reason or virtue, your sky sails above, in this time of hate, make me swoon, take me as your mate, let them rumour.