There’s nothing I can say about love
That has not already been said
Before me, a thousand “greats”
Before me, a million dead.

So, what use of me to say a rhyme
Special just for you?
When before I breathed, countless times
Others did my dues.

But here I’ll try, although in vain
To have my love poem fill
With more than twice the bumbling
And less than half the skill

Love is - …
Love feels-…
Love-…
...

Shit.