prose poem. My only, near, experience came at the end of a troubled and violent, non-sexual, relationship with my mother before she passed away. Close to our last, face-to-face, meeting I invited her to "make love over breakfast" . . . the balm of her smile remains.
English
I, a man, wept for joy and the beauty of your
prose poem. My only, near, experience came at the end of a troubled and violent, non-sexual, relationship with my mother before she passed away. Close to our last, face-to-face, meeting I invited her to "make love over breakfast" . . . the balm of her smile remains.
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