Fall he fell hard on a soft carpet and all his words are forever bruised purple and black phrases too bitter for me to digest me, who loved from afar though never dared to say and became bruised nonetheless
03/06/2014
I dare to say June. I love your ode, the reading of which obliterates distances and bruises and makes one well on the way to healing such.
This poem says to me that romance is only meaningful if both get on the same page.
. . . I like the acknowledgement of honest bruises at a distance (I know them too well). Nice work.