She never touched me, though she came to play
she's never loved me no matter what I've heard her say
she's just like me in so many ways
she's a rogue.
Our eyes and touch press ... skin to skin
we talk of 'real', rejoice within
but wait like cats to pounce and win
neither lies but we love to sin.
A wastrel's dream this love so thin
where bodies press and egos win
the coward's risk stops at the skin
and though we share ourselves we're not akin
"Have a nice day...", "I love your hands...",
"I care for you...", "My freedom demands...",
"I live confused...", "I want to win."
why do we press so hard to feel so thin?
The dance unwinds, we learn our ways
the passion flares ... smoke, winds blow away
another meeting, warm clay to clay
it feels so wrong, hasn't love more to say?
gallagher
10-26-78 - about kathy a.
long beach
— Copyright 1965-2008 by Dennis Gallagher —