December finds me daydreaming in Starbucks

I want a lover like a hero.
One that writes poetry on napkins-
one who pretends his favorite film is soemthing noire-
like he gets it.
He can write perfect prose about the azure flush in my eyes-
my pout and pert ass.
He'll send me flowers-at work- on my birthday
tell his parents I'm a prodigy-
his friends I'm a perfect lay.

He dances like Fred Astaire
and quotes "Wonderful Tonight" by Clapton
He knows what I order at different places
and he never gets tired-or fired- or lockjaw,
just big raises (if ya know what I mean)
rents oldies and digs Jerry Lewis
and the smell of tobacco-
smokes it liberally
never chews it.

His brother thinks I'm almost as charming as he does
he has perfect hygiene
and gives great backrubs.
"Merry Christmas- here's a classic monogram Louis Vuitton barrel bag, sugar"
he'll say-
stamina like George Foreman-
y'know, in the ring-
I mean back in the day.

And while my chai cools
I give him a little facial hair
and a knack for holding booze.
Maybe fantastic taste in shoes.
That barrista wants my number-
maybe for right now he'll do.