Bowie

I can’t touch myself
To thoughts of him
That
Extraterrestrial
Homosexual
Redhead rocker

Without thoughts of a car ride
And a fun night all things alien
Converging then dispersing
Years from now if it is never spoken
we will still share that strange evening
Dirty and stinking wearing yesterdays clothing
Off and running en route to something
Engine humming bumpers bumping
I saw the disk before the cracker clouds
An omen surely the music would be loud
And thumping
I hear it still when kept awake
Not being able to get off because

I can’t touch myself
To thoughts of him
That
Extraterrestrial
Homosexual
Redhead rocker
Anymore