Corps, l'amour-The Paradox of Desire

Long Live Plumbers | 2024| Acrylic on Canvas

Body and its Aura

What a mistake to situate womanly love outside her body- in her behavior, places she holds dear and her wits (sense of humor being an essential part of it). People fall in love with objects in periphery of their lovers, not with their lovers- as if things they love about them counts love a priory; a pre-requisite condition.  Body and love; both are un-knowable in many ways. Love is in her aura; and her body- her own, Though There is a way to both.

The Intersection

Between her thighs, there’s an opening. Attached outside; you will find the most magnificent creature you would have ever noticed, for they do not roam in open. You have to pay attention, or you will miss him in the foggy mix of her beauty and your allowances. That creature swallows the man and sucks him off his juices, yet produces another anew. Body swallows pride. As you feed him, look at her face, the face of Sartre’s ‘the other’’ - your only chance to cum. Does she not look beautiful?…and you are allowed? While your (Hu)manhood throbs and feed the other, you look at her face- the last thing attached to you and her- at her end, just before the abyss starts. A goddess about to bless you, while you graze on her lowers and gaze into her open mouth- She’s huffing. The truth of being, ‘your throbbing blade’- is about to emerge from her mouth. Or so it appears. Body can eat from both ends, yet the hunger deferred once more.

The Cycle of Lovers: Embracing Les Choses Familières

Defeated, lovers die, but only for a moment. Taken, then spitted out, bodies take refuge into their lonesome worlds. To each his own. Lovers re-emerge once again; loving the things they love about each other. Or they part ways as the things they loved about each other change. Drag their bodies along, as they look for Les choses familières.

Body as Ancient Original

Body is the ancient original. It needs differently and it has to be fed from both ends. Body also feeds on bodies and produce more bodies- though in many naughty ways. All one’s got to do is feed both its ends once in a while, if not daily.

Love run amok and lovers come dozen a dime. And they all come wet and un-wrung. Writing my friend- is an extreme pleasure for which one has to pay the impossible price. Good deal; as long as it comes wet and un-wrung!

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