Luisa texts me from the west coast,
saying she can't sleep,
so we resolve to sharing
rando real estate Instagram Reels
of old homes in Pittsburgh,
and helping each other get off,
me jerking off in the kitchen,
and her touching herself in her bed.
I finish in the sink
when she sends me
a photo of her gorgeous body
in a simple tight tank top
and black jeans, but all collarbones,
hips and red lips.
As the sun starts to rise,
I rinse my jizz from the stainless steel,
compulsively write this poem,
pour myself coffee,
and ask her playfully
if I can take her to breakfast
and make her laugh,
to which she replies
"Come to Oregon,
let's go to Powell's
and get lost in the poetry section."
Big Thursday smiles,
and understanding
that wishes matter,
even if they are not real,
because connections are.