Slowly you come to me/ slowly we shed/
the clothes of our doubting/and slowly are wed
Famous Troubadour
It’s four in the morning
but everything's okay
I’m writing you now just
to say ‘Happy Birthday’
Toronto is steamy
I like where I’m living,
They’re busy on Clinton St.
all through the evening
I hear that you’re working
writing your poems, singing in Europe
You were robbed of your savings, G-d!
I hope you’re keeping some kind of record
Yes, and John came by just to drop off the girls
we’re finished as lovers, for sure
It’s been good for us, we have grown
Apart, and for good.
I loved you, as John did,
your songs were about us,
Destructive, creative
and tortured with love/lust
You were part of our courtship,
and part of our wedding
still we weren’t prepared for
the pain of our ending
And you treated all women
to a sip of your life
I took more than my share, now
I’m nobody’s wife
Well I see you, hair grey and wrinkly face
Silent One so full of grace
well I’m dry again but
now I know how to wait
He took all of your albums
I knew they would help him
He cried all the time, just like me
It cost us so much
to be free of each other
a home and a whole family
It’s hard when you’re young
it gets soft later on
so much to collect, then
so much to be gone
Yes and thanks
for the trouble you took for us all
for showing us it's okay
to fall, rise, and fall
I’m so happy you’re happy
an old monk who’s still sexy
and living among us again
I said, ‘Leonard I love you’
at the time of our meeting
I feel like we’ve always been friends
John and I aren’t pals
No secrets, no sighs
but we talk and last night
we laughed at his lies
And thanks
for the poems and songs that you write
for helping us give up the fight
We're beautiful losers, like you.
Sincerely,
M. Moore

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