Here we sit, along the sidewalks of this decaying city street.
She forms goosebumps along every crevice of my shaky, petrified skin.
I'm a crude, work focused rock.
She's a star-struck, off-balanced mandarin orange.
My dizzy girl, I'm her prince, here with my hands over her dizzy mandarin eyes.
We are two vultures, sitting on the fence about love and spreading our wings together.
She insists on dancing down every hallway, holding my heart for balance of which she lacks.
I'm a girl but I'm your prince, you're a girl but you're my princess.
You wanna move closer, but the eyes on this city street are watching.
She reaches in my head and plants all her orange flowers, tiger lily, baby, she is bound to plant a field in there.
Dizzy hair and dizzy tongue, reaching for my hand but she can't tell how far away it is.
The sun attacks her face, making her squeeze her mandarin eyes shut, out comes sweet orange juice tears.
As a prince does, I save my dizzy girl from her strong sick villains–sunny days and bright passing lights.
She's dizzy, she says.
Sitting up and staring my soul down, her face to my entire being, with one brown and one delicate mandarin orange.


© Junemousonae