It is only after many years I am permitting myself to add- -ress you again, through these Abstractions on paper. I had read Freud all morning and was led To reexamine what was once Alive and throbbing between us.

Discounting Freud’s absurd theory Of penis envy, you were looking For a responsible and stable daddy And I, oh the infantile ‘I’, sought The benevolent mommy I had lost Metamorphosing from a smooth faced Child into a hormone lashed youth.

However sometimes a cigar is just A cigar. And what was on my mind (Or should I call it soul, that unknown And perhaps unknowable sea within?) When we made love (another loaded word; Another abstraction to soften a common act) Was not a yearning to be restored to oneness,

But a nu-clear annihilation of the self, This walking wounded self. Did I Succeed? No. Was it good for you? No. How closely entwined is the serpent Of pain to that of languorous pleasure! Freudian insights in hindsight, I know, I know, are bunk, more so when we are

Cursed to keep repeating this shadow puppet play, This masquerade ball of courtship and conquest, This minor glee in the face of deepening loss. Yes we are created to perish, and yet see how We stay alive by playing this crazy amorphous Loud riff again and again, Love!