Cliché 

scanning tonight
years of my poetry
my fear realized, normal
and I am;
utterly cliché.
alas,
its the chardonnay
or I’ve tricked
myself, again,
into believing
I, extraordinary.
in awe
watching the glass
fill itself,
as I fall, once again,
for Pablo Neruda,
and settle in,
knowing he understands.