I once met a Bukowski fan
from California who knew more than
all the men I have ever known.

We spent the night in El Paso,
drinking to the after taste of
past lovers and the summers
we would never reach.

We talked of life, his admiration
for me and as his eyes stroked
my curves---

I drew him from the clouds,
split his lungs with stern
indiscretions and blessed
his name in vodka.