I Once Lived In Paris
But not alone
I woke up thinking about him and wrote this. Damn editing, he would have hated that.
I lived in France, but not alone
a Paris apartment was our home
with others, we wrote poetry on the street
there was me, a dog, a cat, and a parakeet
We kept plants and flowers in the front room
I did the chores with a witches broom
Leonard did some of it, I must admit
in the morning, but only after a shit
We wrote together, drank in a bar
poets with not enough money to buy a car
life is what I’m all about, Leonard said
I’m life, and I am poetry, and what’s in my head
Leonard occasionally did a special show
he went nude on the stage from head to toe
after strip teasing, the women look surprised
he’d changed his sex right before their eyes
He dressed as a woman before we had a bite to eat
just a few doors down the cobbled street
in conversation at the table, we’d empty our hearts
about life, and Paris, and the literary arts
We loved to gossip and pull apart someone
spread juicy rumours, but only for fun
we let our hair down, so to speak
and mocked ourselves with tongue-in-cheek
So many times late at night, Leonard would pay
for sharing his joy and for being gay
I found him one time bloodied by others’ spite
he was kept in hospital. I stayed all that night
It’s not amusing because there were always those
to spoil his fun for wearing different clothes
quick to find fault whenever they can
they laid into Leonard because he wasn’t a man
They made fun of how Leonard would talk
and liked to imitate the way he would walk
tell me then, if you can, what must you be like to be a man
a poet, a songster, he was a love-filled human watering can
He lived his life’s masquerade right up to the end
when I think of Leonard, we are together again
I fantasize about what my life might have been
if Leonard had lived his beautiful, endless dream
We loved each other, no doubt, I confess
residing in Paris brought me such love and happiness
I ask myself what I learned about who I am
Leonard taught me, with love, how to be a man
The answers will come for those who must make
a time in life when all the rules they must break
Leonard died because he wanted so much more
an overdose of heroin, and he left by the back door
It’s strange how I feel in these moments together
when two hearts then were light as a feather
Leonard never spent a day of his life concealing
the man he was or the love he was feeling
But we both know the truth about how he lived today
if I had my choice, I would have liked him to stay
but Leonard had to find a new love song to sing
a pipe to smoke, a poem to write, because that was his thing
Late that night, I read a book and stifled a yawn
Leonard never rose, though it was so close to dawn
he’d hate me from there if he knew all I could say
was I loved him, this man, Leonard Laconte
