How dearly I covet a cultivated love
My moments I give You are not my all
How I've forgotten the sound of Your voice
It seems part of a million
I'm a glass of milk sitting on the counter too long
I sour my own stomach with the warmth
I'm churning and beating the sides of this mug
How I want to be spilled and start empty again
Truly I want to know how to speak to You
Constantly
Know that I'm weary of monotony
I'm churned and I will walk in freedom
I will not let the contents settle
Discontent, and it's high time
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