"Still that dream was solid enough/
to hang our rings upon/
back in the kitten eyed part of love/
where every thing takes on special meaning,/
this song, our song, secret handshakes, open doors."
I don't want to pan the rest of the poem, but this stanza is it for me, the golden bough of sentimentality, which I ada adore. Maybe forcing out forms leads to a lot of mediocre but it obviously leads to strong lines, stanzas, word pairings that you can always recycle down the line. I'd re-write the rest of the poem as the first stanza and finish with this one above as the second. A punch in the gut of sentimentality.
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