What dance is this … where we run to pour ourselves
into each other?
Chasing our dreams between some sheets … pressed.
skin to skin … raging against our walls.
Destroying, again and again,
some illusion of what it is
that keeps us apart.
An endless dance of illusion, we dance;
island universes bumping in the night….
And somehow, as our eyes grow more open,
they grow more haunted too.
Until you fairly know your lovers
by the quiet depth of fear in their eyes.
For they know just how many ways they’ve touched
and how many illusions they’ve seen
and how many ways there are
to still be alone.
2Mar76
gallagher
long beach