Only The Living Love
written October 4, 1969
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19691004               Compassion               Death

Only The Living Love
I met you one night when I was free,
     And you touched me.

Between the cracks in our masks
     We caught a brief glimpse
     Of another's feelings.

As the sun rose toward its zenith
     We played on beaches careful not
     To let our masks crack again.

The next day you said you loved me,
     And I shuddered in fear;
     Fear that I might one day
     Say the same

I did;
     We loved, laughed, and watched
     The stars watching our love.

I lost my soul in that shimmering sea
     Of joy we hesitated to call love,
     Preferring celebration.

 I don't think we meant to convince
     Each other that the summer would end,
     But who are we to know
     the consequences
     Of confused emotions.

Now I must deafen my mind
     To the wailing scream
     That demands to know
     Where love hides.

Maybe pain disguised as love
     Will guile me once again
     To reach out, touch
     Be touched;

But maybe I will look inward
     Toward death
     And discover that I don't need love.

Only the living suffer; only the living love.
     I love you. 		Written for Sharon Lesher Boothby, after a summer of love spent with the first woman, girl (we were in our early 20's) I ever slept with overnight. She was married. She had a child by John Boothby, which she gave up for adoption. Later she married John, and when we met they were separated. I fell in love with love and sex and drank deeply of Aphrodite's gifts.