You are the poetry. Like the bells that chime my hand composes your fate to rhyme. The way you motion with the mop, you became my morning muse. Alexa is taking requests in the kitchen, so take my hand and i’ll let you choose.
When the Soul Cried Out for Meaning
You are the poetry. Like the bells that chime my hand composes your fate to rhyme. The way you motion with the mop, you became my morning muse. Alexa is taking requests in the kitchen, so take my hand and i’ll let you choose.