You tell the woman you like
that you know you may be a hard sell,
but that your penis is even harder.

Her voice on the end laughs
and says, “this from a man
who writes poetry?”

“Yes,” you say gruffly,
leaning back into the favorite
thing in the apartment,
your easy chair.

“The commitment is not long,”
you remind her.

Silence bristles on the other end.

You agree to meet, this person
you know only through a friend
on a social website.

The sun rises up the back of her car
on Congress street,
and so far,
it’s the closest you’ve ever come
to falling in love.