Few times before have I delved such depths,
Than with a citrus cigarette.
The dry air was filled with Mandarin smoke,
I wasn't even surprised when the Dandelion spoke.
The rainman and I traded faces,
The sun was a Clementine,
But in all the wrong places.
Sing it again, Flower Child,
of our fruity fallacy,
as we slip back in the garden
of citrus dreams.
Than with a citrus cigarette.
The dry air was filled with Mandarin smoke,
I wasn't even surprised when the Dandelion spoke.
The rainman and I traded faces,
The sun was a Clementine,
But in all the wrong places.
Sing it again, Flower Child,
of our fruity fallacy,
as we slip back in the garden
of citrus dreams.
This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.

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