SamadhiMuse

                                        August 24.85
              When it's all over; when I'm dead; when my ashes
      have been scattered over Bullocks, I'll still be around.
              Recorded for posterity in the circonvolutions of a
      computer's memory.  Categorized under LB 1984, 85 and
      surely a bit of 86.  I'll be between RG. and KA., KM., and
      GO., the ones I forgot and the ones I don't know about.
      Slices of my life crossing his.  Words trying to transcend
      feelings, green characters on a gray screen.
              I wonder who will stumble onto those files. I
      wonder how much will transpire of the love, passion and
      magic that hangs in the air just now as I think of him.
              Perhaps it will all seem very pale compared to the
      poems of years to come and those of earlier years when his
      passion was burning out of control; for others.
              I'll be a small contribution, a shiny raindrop who
      fed him the water of life.  He's grown so much through
      women. They gave him love and pain, ecstasy and agony.
      They pushed him to the limit, backed him into corners,
      they ate him up alive and he loved them all.
              And I owe them.  The ones I read about with a knot
      in my stomach, and the shadows, beautiful unknowns whose
      influence I can only feel.  He's their legacy to me. Each
      of them a chapter in the book of his life.
              But now he's mine to hold for a moment.  And the
      added sum of his experiences comes through.  My gentle
      lover, knowing, tender, strong.
              Yet, already he's getting ready to leave me.  And
      I will send him away with tears in my eyes, a heart ready
      to break and pain in my soul and body.
              And for all the others who will hold him, I've
      made him richer, I've left my mark.  They will owe me too;
      and they won't know the price of loving him until it's too
      late; like me.
                                 - about Gallagher's women.
                                 - on a Saturday afternoon he's
                                   spending with his wife.

— Copyright 1965-2008 by Dennis Gallagher —

                          Mexico 85.
            Man.  child.
            Your head on my chest.  I hold you.
            Your mouth on my breast, soft lips,
            warm breath,
            I feel.  I feel ... you.
            Your hands.
            Your hands on my skin, touching,
            fondling, touching.
            Musky scents rising.
            Glistening sweat.  Body tensing,
            arching.
            I want to go.  With you.
            I want ... you.
            Man.  child.
            Breath quickening, sweet sounds;
            I see you behind closed eyes.
            I hold you within me.
            I hold you.
            Now.
                                 Lise
                                 23 October 1985
                                 Costa Mesa, CA
            -----------------
            (An attached note:)
                 This is not pretending to be
            anything and if I had any sense I
            wouldn't send it to you.
                 These are just words which
            have been dancing in my head.
            So there.
                           I love ... you.

— Copyright 1965-2008 by Dennis Gallagher —

                                               Monday Oct 27.85
              You're wrong Dennis;  as tight as we are your
         problems with Rose concern me too.
              Your phone call last night disturbed me more than
         anything said or done before.  I understood and could
         feel how hurt you were but it made me feel so shut out;
         as if I didn't exist in your life at this point.
              It sure put things into perspective.  And it
         raised a lot of questions.
              I know it has already started me thinking about
         being involved with a man who is so incredibly in love
         with ex-wife.  Do I really want to spend another,
         three, six months whatever, at the mercy of another
         woman's emotions.  I'm already in limbo not knowing if
         you're going to be here next month, fuck this.  Cliche
         as it may sound, I really don't need it.
              I'm not and I have never asked you for anything
         unreasonable, I'm not asking you for a commitment or to
         predict the future; I'm not asking you to change your
         life style, just a little respect and consideration;
              I'm very much a part of this and you owe me an
         explanation.  I have become, thanks to you, a bit more
         self-centered and calculating, so tell me where do I
         stand in all this?
              I really don't like any of it.  You probably need
         to collect your thoughts and feelings for a while; I'll
         wait.  Give me a call when you're ready to talk.
                                      Lise

— Copyright 1965-2008 by Dennis Gallagher —