Cliche

they are all cliche,

the love notes about senses:

i want to breathe you in

i want to taste you on my lips

i want to see you when i wake up

i want to smell you on my pillowcase

except for one, neglected and novice.

we coddle our lovers but can’t bear to know them,

their complexity, as big as ours—

maybe bigger

—can’t bear to hear them

can’t bear to say,

i want to listen

until i understand