hi mr. craigs,

I just want to get drunk at some seedy quiet hole-in-the-wall dimly-lit tavern-like establishment
with a man, tall brooding charming
race hearts temperatures voices against the bubbles
rising in my cider/stout to froth
and make out.

I want conversation, because conversation is the root of all equations
particularly orgasms
or at least the good ones, the lasting ones,
the ones I want to solve
over and over again;

And I want forever in that 5 hours (or so)
and us playing pretend
that craigslist was not craigslist
but a bookstore -

a parqueted crisp new wood smell bookstore -
where I dropped an encyclopedia
(maybe accidentally)
on your foot
mumbled slurred insincere apologies,
only to notice bukowski in your hands
and melancholy in your eyes;
and decided

I will smoke signals to your heart
and we will test that
over coffee, or stout,
and a pack of cigarettes

because I want what I want
and I want it swift
strong
and verily.