Anti-Freudian Postulation, Revisited

Talking to her was like a bad metaphor
It was putting on warm underwear
Fresh out of the dryer.
Which I know sounds sexual
But nobody puts on clean warm underwear that way.

We used to listen to the same kind of music
And I guess for some reason I thought
That meant we had an understanding.
The nodding head and the tapping toes
Moving, back and forth together, to the same sounds.

I know that sounds sexual,
But nobody listens to music that way.
We drank coffee together, and we both drank it black
Because that’s the right way to drink the right coffee,
Audacious flavor awakening on our lips.

We always made love after we drank coffee together
In the evenings, coffee we had made together
With a French press and I guess the music and the caffeine
Had us feeling excited and good.
And I know that sounds sexual.

But we didn’t make love like that.
It was conversation in low light with remnants of cigarette smoke
And the memories and the music turned into feelings
Articulating with bodies what we couldn’t put into words.
I wish we had just had sex, you know?

But we had conversations with our bodies
And that is hard to forget, when you knew what the words meant
When it didn’t sound sexual.
When sex is more than innuendo about itself,
That’s when heartbreak hurts.

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