Tag: Inspired by Brian Lounsberry

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And Now He Isn’t

When I was just 17
I fell for his pain.

He was different from me
and yet we were the same.

There between walls
and hospital beds…

There where we said
all the things left unsaid.

All but the truth
of the love that I felt.

But I know that he knew it;
he told me himself.

He signed it in ink
on a board for goodbyes

as we crossed the brink
to begin our own lives.

I thought he was gone;
though in dreams he was near.

“We must love our loved ones
while we have them here.”

And I swooned
as I grieved
and then one day I healed…

Before the wound
cleaved me in two
and revealed…

That he was alive;
it was I who had died.

And all that I’d felt
was because of a lie.

Written by Jason Wright
July 24, 2026

For Brian – on his 50th birthday.

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Contradistinction, FEAR & Numbers

On Brian’s July twenty-fourth
forty-second birthday
I’m wearing the “Allergic to Sunlight” shirt
that I bought in late summer two-thousand
to wear for my beloved Shawn (F)…
I include his last initial
because there were two Shawns of note that year.

I switch the E & A Trains on
forty-second street…

“Strike that! Reverse it!”

I almost miss that transfer
as I write about my Shawn R. experiences;
I was wearing the same shirt the night that I met him
in October two-thousand…
before we were lovers,
before we were friends,
and before he recently fucked me again;
bringing closure and revelations,
inspiration and fascination with all that this act entailed
and all that lay revealed in the aftermath.

Written by Jason Wright
July 24, 2019

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The Day After Dream

The day after dreaming
of lakes and of drowning
with lost lovers speaking / escaping / surmounting…

The day after Brian
had turned forty-two
(though former Hawaiian was lost to me too)…

The day that a cousin
came out to heartbreak
and family treasure was lost in a lake…

When Aaron confessed
to the death with his crying:

Was my dream of sex
just prediction of dying?

Written by Jason Wright
July 30, 2018

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Day of the Dream

In the dream, on Brian’s 42nd birthday,
Aaron drives into lake,
which covers family riches.

And back at campground
I find well adjusted Michael,
with his playful latin lover,
who allows us our alone time
to heal, cuddling naked
and sharing our long overdue kisses,
shared decades after repeatedly fucking
for close to 10 years
straight.

This is something
that he wanted for so long
and I try to let him breathe
and I’m surprised to learn
they fixed that years ago –
I didn’t know that they could.

He’s happy and clean,
old with regret yet somehow
young in the satisfaction
of decisions finally made.

There was
no wife –
no children –
no victims –
and he was saving himself
before drowning in his own lies.

Written by Jason Wright
July 24, 2018

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July of December

Nothing to write but I feel like it’s coming.
Waves are still crashing. Heart is still humming.
Jumping through hoops to receive your bouquet…
The truth was delivered on Brian’s first day.

Brian was there in two-thousand winter.
First month of year pierced heart like a splinter
which remains there today; his birthday remembered:
January dream in July of December.

There was snow where he touched me.
Brian, scared that he loved me.
Brian stared. Brian cared as I woke with a fright.
And there in the shade of the dream where we made love
he carried and married me all through the night.

Seven-teen years and I still feel those kisses
though we never have visits; explicit or shamed.

And I never accepted he’d been resurrected
for in death I was blessed while in life only blamed.

Written by Jason Wright
July 26, 2017

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Brian Was Here (2026 Edit)

Brian was with me
in his home tonight.

Brian –
he carried me…

Brian –
he married me…

Brian was buried
in my arms tonight.

In these dreams he was older
than he ever was…

And his eyes shown then
with his long last love…

He held me in his arms because
his arms were a promise…
His tears were so honest…
His sorrow was love
in the presence of pain.

His fingers undressed me…
His skin pressed against me…
Tomorrow would come
so we lived unrestrained.

His passion, once gone…
and for ever so long…
Unspooled
in the starkness
that above us was aching.

His fingers, they whispered…
His kisses, they blistered…
Then cooled
in the darkness
that our love was making.

The kisses between us
were innocent lust:

expressions of love
in the absence of fear.

For our time is precious
when doubt is infectious:

We must love our loved ones
while we have them here.

Written by Jason Wright
January 9, 2000*

For Brian,

Who visited me in dreams
to love and be loved.

* This version was edited on July 24, 2026, which would have been Brian’s 50th birthday.


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