Portmanteau from my own brain, this
a habit of colliding thoughts you see,
but a better word for this feeling has
yet to be crafted for me.

A moment of perfection, fleeting and
supple, they swiftly enter and exit
and all you can do is bask in the truth
that you experienced one.

Notch them, record them, collate them
whatever you do, do not forget them, for
they are that small piece of truth, when
all meets in a point of superlative.

This morning, the air brisk, the sun
shining, the bus empty, the clothes
comfy, the seat plump, the sounds low,
the smile broad, that perfect moment.

Lasting only three seconds, it waved
as it snuck upon me, holding shoulders
gently and whispering to ear,
“If this isn’t good, what is?”