I have loved you for the entirety of adulthood.
You are my Goddess.
You are the ink spots on my vacant page.
You are my lady.
My passion,
My excitable fire.
You are my challenge.
My deluge.
My warmth,
My chill,
My smiles,
My medicines,
No frontiers.
My banners,
My dagger,
My love and my life.
Who could ever believe,
perceive and value,
Just education,
Loving my mere diction,
as much as you and I .
Without my pen and dictionary,
I shall but fade and die!
(C) LIVVI

Pink balloon lungs are
blown to full elastic capacity.
Moody wraiths of smoke
plume and spiral unconcerned
against the rubber textured confines.

My lungs float and drift;
ever curious about physics
heightened atmospheres
oppressive gravity.

Wispy questions snake
out on each of my exhales
like barely there whispers.

They ask about Hindenburg’s disaster
cruelty expressed between man
broken laws in today’s society
moral codes of conduct
and lost lighters.

Cloudy answers gust
through his every breath
like a counterweight.

His lungs held answers
Mine held questions.

Cheater

a friend doesn’t let you **** up your life

that girl was not your friend.

I’m sorry to ruin that for you

the solace that you took

at least you got a friend

in the end

that girl that let your throw it away

that saw how miserable you were in the end

that girl was not your friend.

I’m not saying it was her fault

it was yours

I’m merely saying that a friend would have made sure

you would have been okay

that girl was not your friend.

And then you lied to your other friends

said that we were open

i really should not be your friend

The poetic heart got broken.
A million shards of glass were ground.
Words of all profound.
Written with an ink pen,
of purely mice and men.
Her pen once was a feather,
stolen from a mother swan,
Tip honed to an arrow head,
Thrown from a bow,

The writers notes are passing by.
With courtesy and a bow.
They're showering ink in passing,
as the clouds are painted black,
rimmed with fading memories.
Can be no turning back.
Clouds are burst by writer's pen,
Thunderous hail of broken glass,
of fierce wind and rain.
Writing tales of past loves,
On pavements once again.
(C) Livvi