Every minute I was sixteen
I rode the clattered noisome
subway to see whatever
foreign film played on Bleeker
Street. That’s when I loved this man
twice my age old, Louis was his name, we
watched French movies:
he said he understood them, I don’t know.
Last year in Marienbad was his
aristocrats gliding through gardens
and corridors like a dream,
women with much makeup whispering secrets
maybe, hard to be sure, probably just
talking to the cat. No popcorn or jujubes
for sale only espresso in a little cups.
I smoked Gauloises and kissed Louis
In the virgin dark.