Bukowski I'm not

I just got back from the coffee shop. Bought a ground pound of Sumatra something or other and a medium coffee of the day.

I can't bother with all their (Bleep) naming conventions that sound like affected derivatives.

I had a date with a woman last night. Our second date. Officially, I'm on a dating sabbatical but she slipped in just under the wire.

She's sweet natured but has a bawdy sense of humor. Nothing seems to shock her yet. She's solid too, when I hug her. I think she has big bones.

I'd love to (Bleep) her. Eat her (Bleep) and watch her tummy tighten with ecstasy.

Spending the night with her would be great because she would be so easy to talk to and hang out with over hot Sumatra the next morning.

Which is a rare treasure. A pirate's lair. An X marks the spot over her heart and

between her legs. I guess that's two Xs.

Time will tell though.

Maybe this will be my summer of love. My lonely, horny, dirty old man wantabe, summer of love.

Summer of picking her (Bleep) hair out of my teeth. Driving around town

with the top down and my head up, inside a grateful woman's nurturing nature.

Cultivating

unexpectedness

perpetuating surprises

improvising around nervousness

and looking in her eyes, with a delight that embarrasses her enough to make her lose her train of thought.

Until she tells me so

and I want her

even more.