A song of sorrow,
simple, that you’re not with me.
And yet, perhaps, the fault is mine because
your name always comes first in line.
This isn’t what I wanted, I didn’t know how,
how to allow myself to ask for what I dreamt
When I saved all my bad words to serve
as a first to yours,
they dissolved as sugar in water in a swift
But was it you or I that stirred it first?