Cupid Misses

Meeting
you now
for the
first time
is like
driving
around a sharp
alpine road
and suddenly
coming upon
a majestic
mountain range.

Your hair
says sunny
Sundays,
strolling past
thick, and streaky
strands
of indifference.

Your smile
is wider than
the horizon line
of maybe,
stretching out
as far as
perhaps.  

Your eyes
flare like
Roman
candles,
flooding the
room with an
aurora borealis
of just ask her.

Your legs
are long,
shiny, and
finely sculpted
as a Brancusi
in a museum
garden
planted with
flirtatious flowers  
and thorny
innuendoes.   

Our love
is nascent
as it is,
at this
moment,
but could
easily float
out of this  
room and
transcend
every doubt
in the known
universe.

oh,
is there
some place
you have
to be?
sorry.