Two lines in
and there’s already
too much cliché in this poem.
It reeks of artificiality
as if real words
could never describe
the how
of how I feel.
Try as I might
particular facts and
figures, escape me
grasping at instances
that were surely there
one time or another.
However solid
our love is fleeting
I cannot lay hold of it
for the mutability of time
and the growth
apart/together
of our continued nuptials
making these brief
glimpses into the past
but mere parlor tricks.