Second Poem

[billy]

We laid out at Parc des Buttes Chaumonts
for the 30° Celsius afternoon to lick our perspiration dry
after that subway ride from Notre Dame de Lorette was so sloppy-hot! this line feels like a stmbling block as far as the flow goes. maybe [Lorette, so sloppy hot, or [, we were so sloppy hot] or something else, at the moment there's something wrong with it. ( i do realize it could be all my fault )
William's navy blue-beautiful army coat contributed the only bulk
his French body could imagine[some grammar here maybe a semi colon] while my skinny jeans sank way too tight into American me.
Snacking on Bing cherries, chewing through the now familiar Parisian cloud of nicotine,
the scene was of contentment on the hill and we approached each moment maybe as instead of and
so that the fatty liver paste and bottled water were happily our own.
In the states, a picnic of tiny strawberries and scrawny men
like this would deceive our citizenry conditioned for move [like this] up a line maybe?
portions of macho and sweets in extra large.
But next to my body, bloody with sweat, William taught me the lessons about
rich flavors and delicate moments and sexy men; are some commas needed before the ands?
he didn't say a word.
So much I learned from my French-Irish-Catholic William O'Rorke,
boyfriend of the week!
For sometimes, I even fooled-hoped myself into thinking
that I could find his twin brother at the local Milwaukee prep school when I got home.
Jibberish is all that fooling self-hopes are, something like
the type of nothing you talk about between the French-English language barrier.

i did a big go through and perhaps came up wit stuff that doesn't need grammar (everyone will tell you i stink at grammar and after this you'll probably think the same )