There are so many reasons not to.
We didn’t have to come all the way to the home of Sigmund Freud to know our desires will always be sublimated. But passion is the opposite of reasonable and in the spacey, jetlagged early mornings, I search the plenary for the set of your shoulders and the vulnerable naked place at the back of your neck that I have already stared at through so many meetings, imagining the taste of your skin. As the days warm up, the smell of rubber from all those condoms gets overwhelming and for me it’s the smell of sex… almost unbearable.
We sit together and the small spaces between us crackle with the static of the un-said and un-done. I dream about you at night and all day at the meeting every allusion to sexuality reminds me of what we might do, every political passion feeds the desire unravelling inside me…inside me, where you would be if we weren’t both so wedded to reason.
