–an erotic dream recalled in vivid detail–

she said: “DM me"

so I excused myself

and slipped into leather.

she was plump and quite appealing,

a cocktail waitress at the "Surf Club" in Newport

so I assumed she meant business.

but she excused herself at the sight of me

climbing through the bathroom window

noisy enough to startle the gulls.

I should keep-up with today's communicational lingo.

the night air was warm in Newport and the scent of the stern-

fisher's catch of the day clung to the atmosphere as I unzipped,

and slithered from the erotic suggestion before going to bed.

In the morning I scratched out the "Surf Club" from my address book

before remembering it was all a dream, but I left the book in its

revised state without the Club's entry because

at this point in my life I'm not jumping to any more conclusions.