I saw the lotus,
When it bloomed I stopped to stare
And I saw myself, rising

To awake rested, yawn and
get up on the
completely right side
of the bed.

a full, healthy breakfast,
quality coffee.
good news headlining
the paper.

the smell of a bathroom after
a woman has spent time
getting ready for a
night out.

words of kindness from a friend.
such things I adore.
...but I love
poetry more.

a fully comprehensible manual.
a love letter post-it note,
or a book on something
hysterically interesting,

like psychology or history.
music of the kind that you welcome
sticking to your mind for a
whole day.

these things make my day for sure.
...but I love
poetry more.

her hands on me, warm with
sleep as she reaches over and
sighs between dreams.
yes. he's still here...

waking up with her hair in
my face, falling asleep on the
sofa with my head on her legs
the way a dog warms its owner's

feet with itself while resting.
not feeling like myself when
she's further away than the
next room.

hard to not shake
when she cries.
impossible not to laugh when
she laughs,

and to not want her
when she
wants me
to.

****. it's plain to see.
...I love her
more than poetry...

I used to buy doughnuts with granules of sugar on.
You had to lick it from your lips.
The sugar on doughnuts became estranged.
Exchanged for sticky syrup,shining.
Nothing like yesterdays doughnuts
They taste almost the same,
They look a little less inviting.
But today's doughnuts' are still exciting.
(C) Livvi

The memories are there
In a crafty serpentine position
Slithering and winding
Waiting to constrict the present
Fueling rage seethes within
Spitting fire

A sad snapshot of a
thought: we
could have never

met. how close were
we?
to picture

life
without our
love;

opposite of
a
selfie.

sometimes we just need a person to listen to how we really feel

learning how to forget the pain caused is the worst pain of all