Grenada

In the clear sky of unuttered complaints
She takes her morning stroll
Further than the fruit trees lining the block
Her mind takes its leave of Grenada
And the games she played there
She'd kept company with musicians
And artists. Painters and princes.
She knew the Albatross in the old days
Waited tables for the fancy French
Sat just inside an arms length from me
When her hands weren't in my pants
Handsy in the hammock with its summer sway
Close enough to share truths she could barely bring herself to whisper
Smart enough to know the flame forgets the spark
Unfortunate enough to learn every con must have its mark