When I was 16 and an artist

I dressed in black

And took the D train

From the Bronx to Greenwich Village

To hang out.

I carried a sketchbook and

Rapidograph pen and drew

Fellow passengers on the long ride downtown.

One Saturday as I was walking on Bleeker Street

Holding my sketchbook

A man caught up to me.

In accented English he said

I have been following you

Could not take my eyes off your derrière

Smiling at me, said

I am a diplomat from Haiti

Showed me a paper something

Said my name is Louis and I think I love you.

We went to his apartment arm in arm

And I discarded my black turtleneck sweater

And black corduroy pants

On the floor

Said I think I love you too.