I am an inveterate being. I only need you for the course of an evening, and even so, I can do without touching your body. How does that make you feel? My utterly selfish intentions. Your body I can breath in at a distance; already spent. Your eyes can sparkle all night urging me to take you by the hand, but I won’t lift a finger. Why don’t you come near, and I’ll smile, and I’ll ask what you do in your free time and say that you must be a creative person somewhere deep behind that lace top of yours. And you’ll feel heard and I’ll even start playing with your hair. But that’s it. I have no desire to watch this dance unfurl as you see it in your mind and how I see it in your eyes. This is a dark space, and you’re a waitress, and no one can see us. How alone we are, how taboo this may be, my hand just squeezed your waist. Will you show me what’s behind that door so I can amuse myself a bit more? It feels as if I cast a spell because my heart now beats as fast as yours and surely there is a climax to this story because now we’re alone and you say that we shouldn’t be here while standing firm, in arm’s reach, with not even a tremor to move. Do you know about the woman I love? Do you know that you will never compare to her? Do you know that all I needed was an inhale of the feminine and you just happened to be here. Just a thing. Just a tool. Just a dewy creature with long hair. If you didn’t tell me you paint I may have not explored you any longer than it took to order my drink. I can get back to it now. I can get back to a smile that will force you to leave me with your number. I guess I’ll write it down and save it, but i’ll never remember you. How do you feel? Hopeful? Good. Let’s see each other soon. I like girls who live in the Lower East Side.