She Dreams of Men Who Read Calvino. --Pt. I

This is about a girl, who reads Calvino, who dreams of her perfect man. How does she mourn at night? Does she rest uneasy, quietly deciding that she does indeed know him? No, she holds her yearnings in her soft delicate mouth. And upon wakening, she is held captive by the men, men, who like her, read Calvino. Her memories of loose dreams torture her through the day. --Maybe, he smiles at her on the Brown El’ while a copy of “Mr. Palomar” is held in his backpack. Perhaps he brushes, fragrantly, out of the elevator having just finished “Invisible Cities.”--
Each time she reaches, she prospers at knowing her man. Each time she declines, she submits to defeat. But each night, she lies down with solemnity, (For is solemnity not the way we humans worship or have our visions?), and she sobs at knowing his presence, she sobs to grasp his unknowable face.
- - -
It is disbelief that keeps us here on this wanting earth and not living our waking dreams.
- - -
We touch and we see faces. Belief is not enough. We are enamored by our features—our lips rather to kiss than speak. Our minds rather to forge the city than to explore, to seek a man, at a café, gently reading Calvino, sitting politely and somewhat apologetic. He is waiting for the girl with the solemn dreams to speak to him.