You are perfect. Your hair is perfect. Your dress was lovely.

I took that George Bush book just because you held it.

I want to hold you, I want to paint you, I want to lie in my bed with you and read with you under a heavy wool blanket.

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now, this isn’t my first missed…

People don’t say things like this to each other because it’s more likely that the poetic stranger doesn’t meet the beheld-stranger’s personally preferred level of “foxy” and thus comes across not as a potential lover but a completely weird stalker freak-show.  More often people are interested in those who aren’t interested, who will never write them a poem or a missed connection, and who will gladly sleep with them but not call in the morning, or after a few days, or ever.  Humans are lonely because they are very, very stupid.  I am not excluded from such criticism.  I am very, very stupid.