Hope danced on lips unhinged by love
And the conversation was natural, intimate and real.
Truth exploded from my mouth like unrestrained combustion,
Time followed it with fleet feet in the single direction it runs.
I might never be yours
be someone
live well enough
But I am always the truth.
Love does not happen in a
Set space or time,
Sometimes it happens in one
Small
Seemingly for fun alone
Moment
And sometimes it spans years or decades.
It holds me alike either way
And I find myself reflecting on
Everyone with whom I have spent an evening
More commonly these days
And much more fondly.
There was love
Even within other love
And maybe there always will be.
Surely, there always will be.
We watched Harper reelected,
Consummated years of built-up lust,
Snuck away to your jeep,
Frequently tents or spent time laughing in a tent shared with a friend,
Spent time as three in a shower for two ,
Exchanged pictures or videos,
There was no limit to the fun.
The fun ends they all say,
But maybe they never experienced the fun that I had,
Or they didn’t understand that this fun
Could be built and sustained by two and two alone,
Granted you had the right two.
Australia,
Newfoundland,
Quebec,
British Columbia,
Taiwan,
And of course Sudbury,
Thank you everyone and everywhere.
Life is much less painful and gruesome
When a bed is filled with two or three
than when it is one,
And there have been tens of twos.
I tried to step around it all
And over sympathetic words
But they didn’t come easily.
Sometimes the cold truth is the only way to speak,
And it stings like daggers in the back.
You’re a clown,
And not in a good way,
Less old court jester more monotonous hack comic.
You’re a failure,
Not because of the places u have been or
The job you’ve chosen,
But because you’re empty and
Even your dreams were false.
You’re an idiot,
Because those people around you now would
Be in you then outside your life at the drop of
A hat or condom wrapper
You should have made them use.
And mostly,
You’re a fraud,
Peddling some woe is me bullshit
With a house constantly breaking down from
All the thrown stones that made their way home
And my empathy no longer reaches that far.
There’s no solace in those broken arms which
Is perfect for the nights spent in foreign beds
that span much further than your
Slim track record,
But not as far as the lies.
Passion can not to described to those void of it.
You have it
or you don't.
There's no grey area,
no second guessing.
There is also no sense of justice,
and when you believe there is,
kill that thought.
The politicians are best left politicing,
while the journalists are left in gutters.
Truth found,
no megaphone.
My willpower slaps you,
with all my bad intentions,
tearing down your resistance,
in one fell swoop.
You'll never forget me;
I broke you apart,
to make you whole.
You're better than ever,
better than you ever were,
now that you're without me.
Only one line was true;
my ghost will be your curse,
for as long as you breathe.
Andy Veilleux 