I Have Had Complaints Of My Latin Poem by James McLain

My Latin is Subaru...Is it not supposed to be..
driving the hand in force of thoughts that are
yours make my thinking chores..
Yoyou's escape the strings one bound around
worlds lost and found walking dogs to chase it's
wind.
Yet I miss you when the boat leaves your harbor
tasting small waves that rock such a large ship
running blind with no lights swells in fog.
Only wedgies of time slice pies thick crusts inside
limes of keys in the bottoms west this week and next.
Until then please let the cake cool before leaving
the ice cream as the wind of the dog once flown
always comes back scented of vanillas extracted
as does Beatles musk unleavened in bread.