Two Versions Of Love

Eros himself is nearby in Ovid's poems. When a woman crosses paths with a man, a sense of fait accompli prevails rather than anticipation. They slip into an embrace effortlessly, both of them know this love-play. The warmth of the early evening is luscious in the garden. Sweet flower perfumes take away what's left of their breath. Their kisses multiply in an adjacent room decorated with erotic picture. Entangled in each other's limbs, they pause to appreciate the artistry which perfectly mirrors their passion. When they climax, they both inhabit the realm of the gods briefly. Immortal longings are satisfied temporarily. Smiling, they speak softly about their joy and gradually drift off into a shallow sleep... Such is the content of Ovid's THE ART OF LOVE. It is addressed to prosperous people, a way of being for those who race through life, grabbing their delights in the rush of experience. There is another Love which descends from sacred Desire, and lags far behind Ovid's type. Desire takes its own time to unfold in time. It postpones the shudder through the flesh to add delicacy and coax passion to swell. Desire means walking together on air, embracing under blazing sunlight, or within the cool radiance of nightfall. It is composed of promises of happiness which seem as accessible as the next day's dawn, and sleep is deep and restful.