29 May 85
Dear Lise:
You write like you are; every stroke cut from
directness and feeling. I applaud your letter and love
you.
Its a special time now. Lovers for a few moments
or a few months between our pasts and what the future
holds for us after we part. My sweet sister lover, it
will be painful for me on that day but now…, now I
only want to revel in your love. And what joy and deep
pride it gives me, that you love me!
I don’t know if you know what power you have and
what joy you give when you love. You wonder if you
give me anything? Watch me next time you shine your
love on me. Watch the pleasure fill me like the glow
of whiskey. The grace of love, unbound.
You, that person I talk to after we make love.
The one who sat on the hospital bed and smiled at me as
I wore her chain. The one who held my hand as we
crossed the border into Mexico. The one who said, “I
don’t like to play games, I’m not very good at them”.
THIS lady is the one.
Cut away all the details and problems of your
life. Cut them all away and what you have left is she
I described above. The essential woman, Lise.
This Lise, the one I love is so radiant to me that
I cannot see the problems. I walk thru them as if they
do not exist. What waits beyond any minor problems is
so beautiful I can see nor acknowledge nothing else.
I’ve know people whose lives are “Irvine picture
perfect” and their spirits are only shadows. Their
words meaningless birds in flight, their confessions of
love nothing but poor reflections of someone’s TV life.
They are so empty of courage and sweat and spirit that
I grow disgusted. (But I never can work myself into an
actual state of ‘hate’ like the French). And you, my
love, … when you say you love me it has meaning and
value and depth because of who says it. Because the
one who says it is someone I both love and respect
without reservation.
If I could never love again in this life, I would
be content to stop here.
I look around my place. The candle burns for you.
I look at women in the market and all I can think is
how are they like Lise? I won’t see you for several
days perhaps but I know you are there 2 or 3 miles away
and I feel you presence, like the candle I see here,
burning. Pleasure and anticipation sit with me as I
write this letter.
Love,
p.s. you told me you liked my poetry. now I may never
stop sending it to you.
— Copyright 1965-2008 by Dennis Gallagher —