I am sultry Earth. I am passionate Fire. I am lulling and lilting Water. I am Air, the breath of desire. I am love, the wind which blows straight to the heart, the thumping tumult of need and melting.
I am that which inhabits the pelvis and inhibits the conscience.
I am Desire: A force so strong it rips away artifice; a beat so loud it drowns out the intoned laws of the prophets.
I tease and tempt, tickle and trickle. My fingers, adept, masters in their own right, own the tantric arts of delayed pleasure, of the deeper bond. My lips, plumptious and sweetly oozing as halved fresh peaches, invite and turn away, open and snap shut, a constant dance of desire and denial, beckoning and rejecting.
I shoot the spasms of blood into a stiffening member, lubricate the secret female dells of delight; I operate the filmy gauze of fantasy, letting the wildest, most forbidden, scenes spread, like eager legs, over the giant screen of the mind.
I stimulate the urge, delay the finish, work up the tempest and leave its collateral damage for others to deal with. I am an expert at the slow agony of pinching the precise nerve, of pushing the end just that tiny frustrating millimetre out of sight, of suggesting worlds of passion and exquisite action fractionally beyond the scope of living humans.
I tantalise and torment. I provoke and I punish. I prod the raw material with the weapons fired upon my forge – and then step back, a smile of inhuman cruelty and satisfaction wide upon my face.
The flames of love-making are my hearth’s business.
Can I, Desire, feel the shattering heat, see the effulgent heat-beams, cradle within my own body the shrieking absolute want of another’s?
Or does the spear of my intent come from a non-corporeal essence and an imagination far greater than that created by flesh, bones, blood and mortality?
I AM Desire!