About Love

I think that all there is to say about love
Has probably already all been said
I try and wrack my brain
But I don’t think that there’s anything novel in my head

Nothing novel, no poetry, no prose
Nothing new or original, only things borrowed
But not plagiarised, well, not intentionally
If there’s nothing new to say about love
Then it will probably be the death of me

I don’t want to continually trot out trite tripe
Like a regurgitation of saccharine greetings card messages
I want to put words to the unsayable
Salvage the true purity of love or at least it’s vestiges

I want to define the undefinable
But everyone else has got there before me
My heart really and truly sank
The moment I saw the size of the dictionary

But I do have a trump card
An ace up my sleeve
My own little niche in the market
Because no one else could possibly describe
What it is that you mean to me.