Bing.

I plant a kiss that rolls of her lips,

Bing.

I want to chug this drink of love, but she is only giving sips,

Bing.

Sad eyes meet each other,

Bing.

But a hicky staring at me is from another,

Bing.

I plant one more,

Bing.

Hoping to make her lips sore,

Bing.

A rip in the real,

Bing.

The dance on the dead,

Bing.

She says she needs to walk away

Bing.

Or at least thats what I thought she said,

Bing.

I can't change the past,

Bing.

Cant change anyway.

Bing.

There is nothing either of us can say,

Bing.

This is the end of my day.
Bing.

Bing.

Bing.

Sing me something sweet,

play a nice a beat on repeat,

simple yet elegant,

take my mind off the rant,

take my mind off the day,

do it in some crazy way,

make it spontaneous,

my soul wants it instantaneous,

take me a place in a universe,

dont need any verse,

dont need any burst,

do it in some easy way,

remind me of May,

sunny and in tune,

play it till noon,

take me over like a wave,

something to nod to in my grave,

simple yet intoxicating,

to stop my minds debating,

make it easy and to keep,

into my head to creep.

Sing me something sweet,

play a nice beat on repeat.

Bella donna are you smiling?
let me hold you tight,
and take away your pain tonight,
as friends is fine,
I'm so **** cheesy I know you don't know what side of the line,
you are leaning towards today,
because I'll always chase you,
a hopeless romantic born this way
even if you aren't mine,
just smile,
I'll stay longer than the expected while,
run from me for you,
but don't run because you have to,
there is no protecting me with your back,
so smile,
because kid I swear by the moon and the sun,
you look so much better with one

You sell your paintings on the street,

I sell my writing on the black market,

we will keep at it till we meet,

I will sing my lyrics on an old carpet,

you will paint until your pictures bleed,

I will write with such a need,

you paint to make things real,

I write just to feel,

we will keep at it even if there is no meal,

you paint to scream,

I write to forget my nightmare, my dream

You paint with colors dark and bright

I write to make things right,

you paint with emotion,

I write what is in sight,

we will keep at it till this festival is revealed to light,

you paint what you see,

I write to see me,

you paint in the parts of this screaming town,

I write to make a lover wear a wedding gown,

we will keep at it till there is no sound.

You paint about me in this dizzy trance,

and I will write about you in advance,

we will keep at it till the end of our dance

and show each other what we have done.

By the river I meandered .
Ducks quacked their racket.
Accompanied in harmony by female child.
The sound in tune with nature's perfect bloom.
Moorhen drifted over water.
Dipped his head then he was gone.
Dogs ran in unison together.
Different breeds as one.
Having so much fun.
Dogs spread their bark all over the park.
As bark flakes off from the trees.

The willows crudely wept their tears.
And the Poplars only trembled more.

Got to the spot of our dragon fly.
Nobody's here.
All that's here are memories.
River's still not got much of a flow.
Her water's flowing mud and silt.

Fishers still stand on the Sunday bank.
Depositing nothing but lines.

And here am I stood on the spot.
Where this poem first began.
Where for a brief moment.
I was your woman
For another brief moment.
You were my man.

In eloquent silence I stand.
Watching the world go by.
Conversing with the naked trees.
Bare and exposed like me.

There's a chill here in this place.
It's felt in my words as they kiss my face.

Sat on the fence as I muse.
As me, myself, and I amuse.
The litter of displaced leaves on the ground.
Memories lost.
Memories found.
Too chilly to rest by the stream.
With a heart so chilled indeed.
And now the pub calls and I'm going for dinner.

Eaten now.
I stopped and bade our spot goodbye.
Homeward bound with a tear in my eye,
Watching two ducks having a row.
Perhaps those ducks were you and I!
By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)

Is there anything so extraordinary as a hand?

I asked, as I ****** his finger
with a gusto hungry to milk some essence of him
that would nourish me after his body left.

Your divine digits! These brilliant explorers, who
fragile as separate spring shoots, can teach and tell and build what
would last for ever.

If a Renaissance lives, it lives in these hands , these ingenious orchestrations that can musick and paint and sculpt and-

          *-and write?

Yes darling, and that.

I migrated my tongue and attention to his palm and slowly painted his love-line pink, tasting his future.

Do you know, when I was once a little Catholic girl- they would tell their stories in Sunday School and I used to imagine the soul resided somewhere in your belly and felt like chicken noodle soup...

and perhaps not so, perhaps hands are the houses of soul where the most Authentic Self of selves resides waiting to touch, to hold, to caress... where the animal desires of humanity delight in the most truthful communication existing?

        -Then... what is the common language? Id?

Yes, perhaps you're right. And love.

His other hand, jealous of my attention, spoke aloud in a sonnet of pinches and strokes that could have drawn tears of reverence were I not held captive by the decadent finger between my lips.

Between gulps of air he queried my fixation
and with a final holy gasp I testified:

**"Darling, touch is the only transparent sensation"

The only problem with moving on from him,
Is that I've kept one thing a secret the entire time,
I look to how unfortunate it is,
That the past can never be erased.