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

favorite, beautiful

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.