Set Targets on Me
In Target, earlier today. You: a tall drink of water, with a smile that a girl could slide away in for all eternity, and that would be the plan. You smelled like bro. Me: a reserved cashier that sold you your floss and shampoo.
If you see this and you’re interested, tell me which flavor of Axe shampoo you bought. No temple pic, no reply.
I couldn’t believe it when I saw you. At 3 a.m. in the Walmart. It was you, me, and large stacks of products on pallets. I followed you through the chips aisle, the fabric corner, and into the gym equipment. When you saw me, I turned around, and pretended to be studying tennis balls.
If this is you, describe the tramp stamp you’da seen as I walked away.
Hottie wit dat naughty body
I was on da bus, you was lookin’ fine as wine. You took off before I could get dem digits, so here is mine: eight cero won seffen feyeve sex too sex free sex. Call me quick, it’s time to get bizzy.
Love, in the Workplace, Actually
I work with you everyday, but you are my supervisor. I bring you coffee, sometimes, but you never look up when I do. I hear you making The Office references sometimes; I have all five released seasons on DVD and I get every one you make. I think about you at work sometimes, but you never look at me when you pass my desk.
My infatuation with you is filled with sometimes, and I’d like to make those sometimes mutual. Email me if you do too.
Slick with Sweat in the Sauna
I met you in the sauna at Gold’s. You know me, I was the one who chose not to use a towel. We talked Nietzsche and god, and abs and glutes. Your frenzied atheism challenges me, as do your abs and glutes.
If you’re into it, come back to the sauna. I’m there every night.
I’m your Dante, are you my Inferno?
You, a short bookish type in the Classics section at Borders. Me, a short bookish type in the Classics section at Borders. You took your copy of Wuthering Heights, ordered a chai tea latte, and sat down at the café. I took my copy of Crime and Punishment, ordered a tai chi latte, and sat down at the café. Despite the fact that every person in that café had some version of this combination, I choose to believe this is destiny. If it’s really you, what color pullover were you, I, and three other people wearing? (HINT: earthtone).
You made my sandwich at the Hogi Yogi. You really missed your calling; those meaty fists were meant for blacksmithing. But they were also meant for me.
You were the kindest girl I’ve ever met. And had sweatermeat worthy of a master butcher. I was with my grandma. You were with your funbags. I was on crutches, and couldn’t help her cross. Your gozangas needed their own crutches. You offered to help. I offered to feel. Send me the street name we were on, and keep the gals warm for me.