Excellent

If I’d ever really written
a love poem, it would’ve
popped with springtime
& someone’s sunglint eyes,
the way the world dissolves
around her shimmer,
odd static and hiss
of overloaded nerves
& knees that buckle
more with each sense
she sparks, every beat
of her blown-glass voice,
untold skin & the infinite
economy of desire,
& that kind of love
poem would’ve been
so very excellent to write