Knowing you are wrong,
you fight the voice of surrender.
Like salmon, you swim,
against the tides of your sweet candour.

Maybe surrender was the problem,
how you saw all things as war;
one in which you could not keep,
the doors of revolt ajar.

My body bears witness,
to the periods of your war.
Yet my mind still keeps,
this reality afar.

And chooses instead,
to replay the same tune;
the one we danced to,
on our night on the rink,
with lights hanging high,
my hold world in your wink.

Knowing I was wrong,
I let you taste victory.
Knowing you were wrong,
you emphatically accept.

I should have left,
a long while ago;
and you should have stayed,
the man I fell for.

Conditions of the spirit,
make us blind to where we are,
Conditions of the flesh,
our realities do mar.

Maybe my truth,
lies not in your arms,
Maybe my truth,
has evaded your charm.

But then I must
set out once more,
into the arms of another,
and call him mon amour.

No–
It is all too difficult to do once more.
Do you believe that change is something you can achieve?
Tell me–
do you believe?