From across the room I can see the wheels turning behind your eyes

And my pulse quickens.

As you sidle up to the bar I watch your eyes make a quick study up and down

And I wonder if you are measuring in Celsius, Fahrenheit, or Kelvin.

From the Windsor knot to the Oxfords

You project a crisp clean vernacular;

No urban dictionary here.

Leaving the Velveeta pickup lines to the frat boys in the corner

Your introduction is simple and smooth.

I take a sip of the large glass of cosmology you order, with a lime wedge for garnish,

And I can already feel myself wanting to take you home

And let you introduce me to the god-particle;


I admire the way you keep a respectful distance between our arguments

But aim your questions in my direction to let me know you’re interested.

Every once in a while I feel a shot of adrenaline

When your rebuttal brushes up against the flesh of my theory.

You’re ability to mix Machiavelli and John Stuart Mill’s

In a discussion of political theory leaves me flushed.

I long to get my hands on your bulging acuity,

Soft concept hard with interest and anticipation.

You must agree that few men are so well… endowed.

And when you suggest there is an inherent eroticism in abstract art

I propose we continue pursuing this theory in private.

So please, make yourself at home. Think up something hypothetically comfortable.

If it feels good, I might just insist you stay the night.


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