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1985-10-23 Mexico 85.

Wednesday, October 23rd, 1985 
                          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 —

Posted in 1985, Irvine, Lise, Others | No Comments »

1985-10-25

Friday, October 25th, 1985 

            Hurt drawn across her
              hanging fragile
            in brittle, painful self-control.
              What to say…
                 in a heart-storm.
            No longer slash and tear
              rip and run
            but another note there
              that I cannot recognize
                 in Rose of 15 years.
                           gallagher
                           25 Oct 85

— Copyright 1965-2008 by Dennis Gallagher —

Posted in 1985, Rose | No Comments »

1985-10-25

Friday, October 25th, 1985 

         Come the clouds of the empty spaces
           like snow drifting into my memories.
         I feel that empty ache
           and see faces that may now be
              only photograph memories.
         Love and aging and unfolding;
           these flowers in our lives
         that bloom with such passion
           and fade so hard
              against relentless time.
         Chris at six, only once.
           Every moment precious, unstoppable.
         Blood and love, kinship there,
           my soul divided.
         See how it is…
           We bet our lives so utterly
         in the stories we’re weaving,
           the beds where we sleep.
                                 gallagher
                                 25 Oct 85

— Copyright 1965-2008 by Dennis Gallagher —

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