Who's fault was it anyway?
Blame left outside the garden gate.
Who played games with her heart?
Who played games with her head?
Moments of silkworms, that spun gossamer.
Smooth, slipping away.
Creator, heart breaker.
Love maker.
Blooms and blossoms.
No questioning stings.
Lost moments of passion.
Just one of those things.
(c)Livvi