| "Desire is of medium height. It is
unlikely that any portrait will ever do Desire justice, since to see her
(or him) is to love him (or her) - passionately, painfully, to the exclusion
of all else. Desire smells almost subliminally of summer peaches,
and casts two shadows: one black and sharp-edged, the other translucent
and forever wavering, like heat haze. Desire smiles in brief flashes,
like sunlight glinting from a knife-edge. And there is much else that is
knife-like about Desire. Never a possesion, always the possessor,
with skin as pale as smoke, and always tawny and sharp as yellow wine:
Desire is everything you have ever wanted. Whoever you are.
Whatever you are. Everything."1 |
