I've lain with her when we made love
like our souls were melting between us
til, on the wings of our passion
we lost touch with our separateness....
And I've lain with her when it was all just an act
and the actors were all the same
and the names would not have mattered.
I've chased her passion impatiently... often
only to cling and claw at her patience... empty.
She tells me I'm looking for paradise,
some prize over the next hill,
but she, herself, doesn't believe there's anything more
and, that of what there is, we've got a lot.
So now... now I sit in these empty rooms
drinking wine with my poems and my doubts
trying to fall asleep... trying to prove her wrong
and wondering who's right.
gallagher
15 may 75
— Copyright 1965-2008 by Dennis Gallagher —