GIRL 22 ~ SOULLESS SALES GIRL
Her photos were alluring. She listed herself as a sales woman. She seemed to know a lot about literature.
Her profile said, “You are a gentlemen and are not ephemeral. You’re literate. A very smart little fox once said, ‘what is essential is invisible to the eye.’”
I wrote her. She winked back, then disappeared.
I kept staring at that photo of hers. Finally I wrote her a poem about how two ships crossed in the night, and how I would never know her, her, the love of my life.
Writing erotic, sensuous, romantic poetry is easy. I just think about Girl 6. I put her right in front of me in my mind, and I write.
It took her seconds to write me back. Poetry is like that old malt liquor ad – works every time. I met her in Princeton at the bar of a restaurant that is entirely too expensive for such rot-gut food. She was beautiful and sexy and I wanted her.
Our conversation stalled at the first sentence. After I’d asked her perhaps half a dozen “first date” questions, she frowned and said, “I don’t like answering personal questions on a date.”
Rather than laugh, I acted as if I completely understood. Then, to my own amusement and that of the waiter, I started a monologue in which I interviewed myself and spoke for her in a sarcastic falsetto voice.
“So, Tonno,” I asked myself, “how long have you been single?”
On and on like that it went for twenty minutes. She wasn’t amused.
Funny thing, I had a great time on that date. I almost considered asking her out again just so I could keep myself company.
Her photos were alluring. She listed herself as a sales woman. She seemed to know a lot about literature.
Her profile said, “You are a gentlemen and are not ephemeral. You’re literate. A very smart little fox once said, ‘what is essential is invisible to the eye.’”
I wrote her. She winked back, then disappeared.
I kept staring at that photo of hers. Finally I wrote her a poem about how two ships crossed in the night, and how I would never know her, her, the love of my life.
Writing erotic, sensuous, romantic poetry is easy. I just think about Girl 6. I put her right in front of me in my mind, and I write.
It took her seconds to write me back. Poetry is like that old malt liquor ad – works every time. I met her in Princeton at the bar of a restaurant that is entirely too expensive for such rot-gut food. She was beautiful and sexy and I wanted her.
Our conversation stalled at the first sentence. After I’d asked her perhaps half a dozen “first date” questions, she frowned and said, “I don’t like answering personal questions on a date.”
Rather than laugh, I acted as if I completely understood. Then, to my own amusement and that of the waiter, I started a monologue in which I interviewed myself and spoke for her in a sarcastic falsetto voice.
“So, Tonno,” I asked myself, “how long have you been single?”
On and on like that it went for twenty minutes. She wasn’t amused.
Funny thing, I had a great time on that date. I almost considered asking her out again just so I could keep myself company.