Upon the undeliverable promise…
A conversation with lust
I find myself waiting for you disinterestedly thumbing through books and looking at the magnificent grandeur of the vernal awakening that, like a naked babe, runs in the chill of the early hours of a promising day. I feel nothing but a nagging need waiting for you, your promise to come. And, still waiting, I am disconnected, foreign to my own space and air. When it comes, it will be. It is not here yet, but when it comes, it promises to bring with it the spring. But now, I am not interested. Nothing really matters. It is not here yet.
Waiting I am seduced, I am engaged in all that I do not want, the lies, the deceptions, the betrayals; all this because I do not care.
Spring comes with heavy clouds that rain and pour all day. I am blind, I cannot see, I am waiting.
Is it you that ravages me, or is it your promise to take me away? Why do I so freely submit to your lies? Why do I want you so badly when I know quite well that, by all accounts and letters, you are bad?
It is me and not my promise that betrays you over and over. All this is because you cannot, or better said, you are not willing, to see me as I am now, here and with you as I always have been. My promise never comes, but I have been with you forever. I am the oldest lie, the deepest secret you have kept hidden from yourself. Yet you’re coming back to me again and again. Every promise given is an invitation to descend deeper on the staircase of deception and pain. If you unveil me, taking away the luscious covering of velvet and silk, you can gently look and see me. I am lust, your oldest friend and enemy. Gently look, only gently, for I cannot bear harsh and honest glares.
I live in a half light darkened by a heavy heart, burdened by falsely perfumed breaths and the powdered imperfections of an old professional. Come closer and I’ll give you what you are here for. I give you my promise; no, not to fulfill, but to keep you hungry, although we both know you are indeed full.
Why do you do that? Why such evil? Why such heartache? Are you the devil?
No, I am not the devil, for in me there is not even a trace of evil. Actually, in me there is no trace of anything. I am the emptiness that never fails to entrap the willing fool. I am gentle, kind, calm. I am a calling to a passion that you have forgotten you are. And yet you are willing to sacrifice all of who you are for my promise. Look at me clearly, and you will see me.
I am really an angel. Don’t you consider angels kind, soft, and dreamy? Airy so they can fly? And don’t you fancy the flight of a passion entangled in naked arms and thighs? Never mind the wings. Never mind that angels fly away. Isn’t temperance fair? It needs to be light in its flight, necessarily temporary. For if not for distance, what use is of calling? What use of a distant song? What use of a golden voice, never mind that it nags and cries? Pay attention to its resonance. What you call beauty is its allure. Have you forgotten what it felt to be in the arms of an angel?
Come now, come. You must pay first. And make sure you pay gladly, for all you’re paying ensures your fulfillment. When you pay you know you deserve. I promise you now, as I always have. Only if you wait, as they say, good will come. And do not call it bad, for if you do you will be even more deceptive than me. Call it good, and then you will see that my promises are fulfilled, with nothing less than more promises. Especially for you.
Created: Mar 24, 2014rexdxiv Document Media