Larry Clark

This was today;

Converse lowtops in high blades of grass,
fired hands with bitter animosity,
Milk flavoured chocolate.
Reading me stories with your limbs,
hands, eyes, legs, knees.

and lips.
And how you kiss with a lot,
and the taste of cigarettes
and your process seems so unknown;
A statistical errata in my mind, you are.

Larry Clark, sweet Jimmy Dean
perhaps you enjoy Bogart
I never thought to ask.
an exchange of nothingness,
afraid of committment- or any pass of judgement.

Oh, how you contain such obscure notions
about the world and it's inhabitants.
apparently ' drinking poisoned time.'
and when your chest moved-or rather harmonised
I tried to conduct.

And when under city heat lamps
your bisexual promiscuousness excites me
because of the magazines I read at age thirteen
told me how women should be

We hadn't talked for a long time, and I think I understand why.
How you were beyond my understanding, I think.