Stained Admiration

This milk stained shirt wet against my skin
smells like twenty four hours of wake
Not that you would even try to understand
or appreciate the security for him that I make
My mixed emotions are too fragile and tense
to stand upon some glass box near your will and speak
but "clinical" would be my most agile response
if you would let me remember my reasons to grieve

When it amounts to you and all of your day
we solve and salute each pertinent cause
But turn for a moment upon my gaze;
We are nothing but mismatched souls with flaws

This milk stained skin has started to itch
from showerless nights and hunger soaked mornings
Whatever we once thought is only a myth;
Complacent thoughts replace adjacent warnings

Drenched again in unsynchronized desire
I find no part of this memory of us to admire