Wednesday, August 31, 2011

Hunger

Shakespeare's prose is redolent of the ache and longing felt with intimacy with just a shell. Close in proximity but so distant in approach. Filling in the emotional lack with sensuality still leaves one hungry.






Venus and Adonis

Now is she in the very list of love,
Her champion mounted for the hot encounter.
All is imaginary she doth prove.
He will not manage her, although he mount her,
          That worse than Tantalus' is her annoy,
          To clip Elysium and to lack her joy.

Even so poor birds, deceived with painted grapes,
Do surfeit by the eye and pine the maw;
Even so she languisheth in her mishaps,
As those poor birds that helpless berries saw.
          The warm effects which she in him finds missing
          She seeks to kindle with continual kissing.

William Shakespeare

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