Everyone has written about love
What more is there to say?
They say every poem is about it
In one or the other way
Poets have a way of complicating it
Or simplifying it too much
It’s seeing the melancholy in their smile
It’s the shared laughter of the sneaky touch
This and this – and all of that
Tender bruises on the neck
Building something together
Just one more light peck
They have written it all
But I haven’t
It’s just so vast – my love for you
Most of it unfathomed.