I met you in the journal section of Powell's on Hawthorne last Friday. You're beautiful eyes and instantaneously interesting conversation... my Cranialsacral classtime on horizon to scadaddle off to... I went back and left a note for you at the sales counter, but I don't think it found its way to you. Too fast. I even know your name, but I can't compose it here. You would never know how to spell mine, after a Lebanese poet (thanks, mom and dad), and even if you knew that, the spelling isn't the same as his surname. "Your welcome".
Your photosynthesis.
You're. I wonder...
what if... ...