This is a love poem.

It is, by virtue, a cliché, in which

I pretend to be unique
I declare my love to be captured in words
I talk about love as if I know its nature, as if I am the first to feel it and understand
I spout pretty words to fill the silence
I -

I can't. Can't turn a feeling into words. Can't
express the vastness of love in the space between letters
fathom its depths and show you
grasp it and cage it - lock it up like a criminal
reinvent it anew, as if this is the first love poem and we are taking a leap and

we are not falling.
Because this is a love poem and it is a cliché, but it still has wings.