Bikini’d woman,
legs sans Frommage’,
lures me with photos
showing her decoutage’.

Not the bare midriff
with french-cut thighs,
but the conservative sweater:
THAT captures my eye.

And though she may think
that tempting photos capture,
it’s her witty banter and prose
that sends me to rapture.

For it’s a woman’s heart, mind and soul
that draws attention to where I want to go.

I’d surprise you
by sending poetry
as a new way
of introducing me.

For a first date?
Ragtop with top down!
We’d be great
cruisin’ to MoTown.

And then we could stop
by the lake’s balmy shore
and sip hot drinks, and talk,
and get to know each other more.

Now that you’ve seen I’m someone unique,
email me back to say when we can meet.

We maybe don’t know/
each other so much, but our/
souls still yearn to touch.

I wonder if she/
knows, or even cares, that she’s still/
always in my thoughts.

Sending poetry,
unbidden,
to get a response,
is like throwing
spaghetti
against a wall
to see
if it will bounce
off and fall,
or stick.

It still makes a mess.

The offer 2 share
your bed:
Is that for real?
or to steal
a look?
only a look.

Sharing can touch
me
and lead to much
deeper activities.

at 5:37 a.m., this was written at the point of exhaustion, drifting in and out of sleep.)