Inquisitive me needs to hear
why you even care
to be the man entangled in my lair
my choice of drink
random collection of dusty shells
I’m out of my element with you
no smog on the top of the mountain
never turning away from this view
or changing the station
examining the carved initials
the letters, the passion, the knives.

Then I commence
romantic foolish love stories in
the cement love.

Perfect day for a latte
at Cafe Olympico
drink the best lattes in Montreal
and run into old lost friends
because not on facebook
to share boring vacation shots
and make others envious of perfect homes
and bullshit glass domes.

Mistake strippers for hipsters
laugh at nothing
and take pictures of street art
analyze the colors of my heart
the naked nipples on the wall
when I will rise and fall.

All in all, the city thrives
the Italian boys on the bench
ready to check out other men’s wives.
It may be tempting to breathe my scent,
best to leave it alone
while I vent
forget about the answers
erotic thoughts
blood on the sheets
forget it now
before you do not even know how.


2 thoughts on “Thoughts on St-Viateur

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