Small Place

Well, at least your poetry maintains a theme. All be it that theme is a shit soda with no straw or lid, more power to you for doing it, but geezads your grasp of the art form is handless, poetry should be an internally delivered representitive of something almost unvoiceable, a reversable 3d puzzle from way deep within the subconcious. Allowing you to learn more about yourself and the world around you. What you've done here is just fallen in love and gone pure stupid, but in your pheremonic stupor you are oblivious and are of the opinion that because your love is so terrific and new and special, than so must be your poetry about it. Unfortunately, this is a temporary reaction to a temporary disease that will bring your defenses down setting you up to be viciously pummeled and tortured by the rack of longing, coupled by fear, and the human instinct to reproduce. I would prepare for stifling inevitable jealousy and horrifficaly depressing loss. Have fun.

this poem absolutely blew me away. i'd give it a 666, but the highest i can go is a single digit.