my irises turn to hearts & i write a word
for the first time. i’ve never gone so blurry-eyed
in under a second flat.

how thrilling and divine,
the exactmost pleasure of the poet…
to write about you, lyrically; to know
you could (indulgently) enjoy it…

honestly ?

a poem can never be helped, it
walks into the room at the same moment you do
this flush so close to permanence

have i told you that i adore you yet ?