Portraits of Her Imagined Lovers

Bitter towards Aphrodite: The Satin Drape

When the black satin drape drifts down to land upon your shoulders and wrap itself about you, the lovely blue flowers die and are replaced by flames.The serene river meandering through the meadow becomes a raging, roiling, pulsing torrent. Contentment is replaced by a perversely sensual longing; the satin hugs you tightly, even as innocent daydreams become dark fantasies and you are helpless to enjoy it. The focus of your thoughts becomes selfish. turning to your desire for that physically intimate companion. You might have been satisfied in life without the satin drape, but every time it descends to cast its spell over you, you are hungry, your insides churning; you think you understand what the human body was designed for. You might have been satisfied: your poetic vision romanticises, your curiosity makes learning interesting and enjoyable, you have passions like solving logic problems, reading, wandering through parks. You don't need the satin drape to be a fuller person. In fact, the satin drape makes you feel / hollow/. How you beg it to leave you even as you beg it to stay and try to find its demands out in the world! How it's exciting, how it's achingly beautiful, how it makes you feel more attractive: how you want and want and /want/. But for the satin drape, you would not feel all this /fire/; and yet, but for the satin drape, you might have been satisfied... When the satin drape arrives, the darkness falls and the night kills the day.