July 13.85
My love,
As I am writing these words, my whole being
is so full of love for you it's just pouring out
of me.
As a matter of fact, I might just explode;
suddenly sending zillions of powerful love charged
atoms all over the universe.
I am so happy to love you. And I feel so
privileged that you love me too.
You, this gorgeous man with the strong, lean,
muscled body, and those light eyes. You, who
holds me down when we make love, or who slowly
sensually slides in and out of me. Sweet torture.
How you turn me on, how you satisfy me.
I look at you, this tall attractive man, and I
am amazed that you want me. You know how I feel
about myself, the outside me that is the shell.
But you know, it hasn't always been that way.
There was no magic at the beginning. I have grown
to love you.
And I do love you for the same reasons that
used to make me smile. I had to know you, more
and better - I had to learn about your childhood
and your life in general to really understand and
now, well, now I really admire you. I understand
and I accept your arrogance at having the guts to
live the way you want. Although I feel that you
have hurt a lot of people in doing so and I have
mixed feelings about that, but on the other hand
how many people have what it takes to make such a
choice about their life. I know it hasn't been
painless or easy for you either.
I admire you also for what you have
accomplished professionally. On your own again.
Nobody handed you anything. And your poetry,
sweetie, your poetry reveals the man lover of
womankind, endlessly searching, seeking, feeling,
loving. How I love your poetry (some of it that
is!).
You are STRONG mentally, physically,
intellectually. It took me a long time to see it.
Now don't get your head all swelled up; you
still make me smile, sometimes. Your naivete for
certain things makes me see the small boy in you.
You are a very special man. And I don't use
this word lightly. You are very special. And,
sweetie, you got it, my love, my respect, my
admiration, it's yours, my gift to you. And it's
free.
Love,
Lise
— Copyright 1965-2008 by Dennis Gallagher —