find an old phone book. make sure it’s at least three years old. you probably have one in the bottom of your pantry, or propping up a broken table or something. if you don’t, i’m sure one of your neighbors will, and people are typically pretty content with parting with old phone books. maybe check downstairs by the mailboxes.

know that your phonebook needs to be heavy. hope that it’s heavy enough. feel how heavy it is, and trust it. toss it in the air a little and catch it. feel how your hands dip to receive it, and learn its angles and flops. throw it higher, but still catch it. throw it higher still, but catch it. begin trying to catch it with a finger or two tucked into the residential pages. make sure you get very good at this, because you’re really going to want to make it count.

throw the phone book in the air, catch it with a page marked, and look to see who your luck has picked to be your new friend. begin by calling them. if their phone number is no longer correct, repeat the procedure until you find someone whose number still works. you want to find someone who has been in the same place for a while, because you will be appreciative of this loyalty and stability in the years to come.

you must try your damnedest to make friends with this person. do not behave like a jerk, because not only will you regret it, but it will make things much more difficult. you’ll have to win them over with culture or witty anecdotes or whatever methods you typically use to make friends. if you have not personally developed this skill beyond the first grade level of asking, point blank, “do you want to be friends,” you may certainly try that maneuver. alternately, you may try talking to them about literature, or what music they liked best in junior high. be charming. don’t be afraid to be human, even on the telephone. if they hang up on you or otherwise refuse to participate, begin the process again. use whatever means are necessary to ensure that this person won’t be offended when you call them again. in your journal, write down your favorite moment in the conversation. you may find yourself wanting to drink some hibiscus tea before you fall asleep tonight. that is permissible.

call again. ask if they remember you, and whether they do or not, remind them of the conversation using your journal entry as a guide. if they hang up, you may give them one further try, but don’t push. pushing can’t help. if they receive your call graciously, begin calling once a week. make sure never to ask to meet in person. before you call for the fourth time, when you’re sure you’re ready, go get some sort of music player, and put on a song that you’ve always wished could be one of your “our song”s, but have yet to share with someone. it is not imperative that your friend be able to hear it. the song is just for you, for now. you may drink as much hibiscus tea as you wish.

you’ll know it’s starting to work when they confess to anticipating your call, and you can be sure that it is working by the time they call you for the first time. after this point, call as many times as you both would like, but continue to avoid any in-person contact. proceed with your friendship, and treasure this person. talk about the people you want to become. talk about your families when you were small. talk about the art you would make if you made art. talk about the places you wish you could go. talk about your dreams when they wake you up, terrified and breathing in the night. talk about the way you feel when you look at the snow. talk about the dogs you had in high school. talk about your grandmothers. talk about pornography. talk about poetry. be candid but always polite, until they feel themselves falling. be prepared to let this take as long as it takes, and for god’s sake, don’t rush it. if at any point, your relationship falls through, and you mustn’t take it too hard when it does, you may rejoin your phone book. if years have past, you may find a slightly newer one. repeat the earlier steps: make a friend. fall in love. then proceed.

when the murmur of your nightly telephone conversations have finally cashed themselves in for promises of real touch, wait ten more days and then meet some place classically mundane, such as the grocery store, or the laundromat. your own suggestions are perfectly valid, given their lack of overt romantic association.

(please note: the success of your final, resulting poem(s) will depend on your waiting until you are in love to finally meet in person. if you have cheated in this regard, your writing will be flat and cursory, and you will find yourself ill at the thought of telephones.)

it is utterly imperative that you bring with you two small notebooks and two pens. you should find that you will want the permanence of a pen. upon identifying your partner, give them one set, and before you may embrace, or even shake hands, sit down where you are and describe every moment of their body, from the first breath of their lungs to the final close of their eyes.

make sure to reveal your lifestory through your posture, or your partner will never be able to know you in this instant. let the curve of your spine try to hide the kind of person you’ve been since childhood, and it won’t be able to. let your shoulders try to hide how many times you’ve had your heart broken, and, arced over your ribcage, they won’t be able to, either. let your feet try to hide how good it feels to run away. they might be able to. let your hands write until your notebooks are full, and once they are full, write until you run out of ink to write with or until you run out of skin to write on. when your partner asks questions, you may only say, “please,” and “trust me.” remain where you are, without speaking any further or touching each other, until this has occurred.

take your partner’s notebook. they may keep the pen, if you wish to give it to them. if they are written on, you will want to record this. you need not photograph in your public location, if you don’t want, but don’t forget. this text, sanded down into its sharpest points, will be your poem.

wherever you wind up going after meeting, instinctively connect to your partner, doing the things that feel most right, without expectation. then, at a resolution, take your pens (or new ones, if you had run them out) to the space leftover on your bodies. autowrite, whatever enters your mind, without judgement.

thank them. thank them profusely, and with utmost sincerity. your love has been pure.  but at this point, whether you stay with this person, growing together and old and generating a family, or whether you take your poem out of their words you’re stealing and never speak to them again, is entirely up to you. if you leave them, open eyes and open mouth and open body, if you simply get up and walk away with your poetry, you are required to leave your own notebook behind.