Freud

The Thirst.
As the Hormones Flow
Logic Ebbs..
The Great Sea of Swirling Energy.
Longing, Passion,
Viewing the World in Black and White
And Anatomy in Colour.
Lust of the Eyes.
Interpreting, her Shape and mine
Flowing with the Tide.
Saying in one ear,
Whispering.
"Let's Tessellate."

Libido.
As he called it.

Now, I am no Oedipus,
And She no Electra.
But the Id demands that Thirsts be Met,
Hungers Quenched,
Fixations Realised,
Pleasures Explored.
And now neither Egos disagree.

And Libido's tides Crash loudly against the Bedhead.
Moaning Melodies of (Over)Indulgence
Muddled Conflicts,
Yeses and Nos.
Melting Together..
Painting the Ambience Visible...
Whether on Rose Petals or Concrete.
Same Picture.
..
Libido, The Pleasure...
Their Crests and Troughs
Paint the Heart's Pulsing ...
May it never Flat Line...
Then the Audience Cheers as the Ceremonial Glass is Raised.
Then we Pretend to Drink?
Because the Thirst seems Eternal,
Does it not?

Whenever that Oral Fixation Sprouted 
And Love became all Lip Service...
Though Time won't tell us.


Pleasure Drives Us.
He said.

And Now more than Ever...
He's Right.