no Katie, sadly I've never been in love :( I think probably few people here have ever been in love. Love is quite rare, and you are fortunate indeed to have experienced it. But though we may not experience cloud-walking, moonlight-embracing love itself, we are blessed to have you describe it for us, so that we may experience it vicariously. Perhaps someday I will experience love, before I die. For now I can only solace myself with 10 dollar blowjobs from cheap whores and excessive masturbation, and -- occasionally, delightfully -- a brief second-hand glimpse of love when narrated by blesséd souls such as yourself. P.S. It's been more than an entire fucking year, fix your spelling mistake you mindless bint.

LOL.

Intrigued at first by the style. But this has a teen-angst thesaurized feel to it, still. "emitted"? I do like this though: "Weakened by your taste, aroused by the newly formed light has made this midnight a lamp unto the darkened soul within" gotta say.

line breaks would really help this.

No Goad, i meant LOL in a good way.

alternate title: "How to add melodrama to your local watering hole"

an abrubt ending, but still some nice tidbits in there. Maybe tone down the punctuation, let the form drive the timing. Good one.

nice tone, but too short - it doesn't bring me anywhere or even full circle. and I want it to.

With all its tension, there is something very stable about the image of a turnbuckle. There's a balance and also an importance to the job that is done by the turnbuckle as it holds together two things desperate to fly apart. My poem on the same subject is about a different tool-- the Rack. I love a poem about a babe with a good rack.

Especially as the poems get older.

Sounds like it could be a Green Day song.

Another world invaded another sci-fi x-file for the inhabitants of Titan.

She has half a dozen pink roses? What, exactly, does she have one extra of?

Wow, there's several ways to take this. What man, after knowing the warm squeeze of a woman's womb would desire anything more. Well, being a man you can return.

Somebody told me recently that poetry is a language game. Well this game gives me a lot of tension, like a turnbuckle tightening its ropes. You have an artful, but tensioning, way of bring the most remote scenes into a steel contraption - i.e. verse 3

Gee Dovina, around L.A. the queens slay as they lay with their own holey men.

Is this about chess...or about "the look"? If it's about chess, then I'm bored....if it's about "the look" then I'm scared.

A nice job with a topic I know nothing about - having said that, I think you ran out of steam at about here: "Why couldn't you have survived And let the dark angels pass you by?" From that point on... I dunno, it looses something. What is there, however, is very strong.

I think you got word-heavy on this one, D - but I agree, it is a little ominous.

I don't know what in the sam hill you're blubbering about here, but I'll give you a nine simply for fuckle.