Not a Love poem

I am not going to write a Love poem
to the magpies that call and wake at six-thirty
to the steep tan-grey-peach cliffs in the early morning golden light
to the smell of colorado creek biking to work.

Not a Love poem.
Love, the laugh loud, flutter-by stomach, cosmic earthquake KNOWING long coveted and chased for Crème brûlée emotional epitome.

Not that. Not to a non-present HE or HIM or YOU
or untouchable, intangible, formless future.

I am going to write sitting on a stool.
Listening to the sound of dishes in the kitchen.
Roommate murmurs.  Aspen leaves shaking. Neighbors in the valley laughing.

I am going to write a love poem. Lower case "l".
Slimmer, smaller, fits in your pocket, carry with you everywhere "l"ove.
Resides in the space between inhale and exhale,
closed eyes nanosecond blink,
abundant average afternoon apple
love.