A clock is a pie, and my piece is between 1 and 12. It’s always time to love—especially if it’s filled with cinnamon apples.

I may look like someone you know. I resemble an apple pie.

I had a dream about you. Flowers were overflowing in the cemetery, so we decided to have a picnic there. You brought apple pie, and I brought my Aunt Mildred, who’d been dead for some...