by Christopher Farrell
(12/10/03)
Seduction. Why does it flatter so deeply and ignite crackling-fire inside? To seduce: "to entice from the path," "to lead astray or to corrupt," adulterous to its very core. But it feels so divine to draw the desired from their path, just for a moment, to roll in wild orchids. It thrills to tempt and flirt, giggle and dance when one's audience has work to be done or duty to be adhered to. To sit with a bowl of red cherries by the path and publicly savor each one as the industrious shuffle by, makes the body glow deep scarlet.
Among those that drink deep and frequently from the cup, the tango takes on greater drama. Reclined like Bacchus, lying spent on flattened daisies, accomplished seducers sigh heavily with satisfaction. When the passions of a distant rendezvous pierce their blissful stillness, however, awakenings are quick. Somewhere, it seems, one drinks even deeper. They take to the path toward ecstasy, well worn, long trodden and weather-beaten.
In the foliage bordering the path, lovers frolic. Set on the distant heaven, they at first seem earthy and terrestrial to the seeker. As the road weakens the journeyers' resolve, curious heads begin to turn. There she lies beneath the lilacs lasciviously delighting in golden mangos. There he lounges, exuding the perfumes of cinnamon and cedar. Duty-bound to their redemption, they ruefully plod on. As the afternoon sun softens, though, at that time when skin glows like baked almonds, travelers dreamily step from the pathway to indulge.
Surrender is quick. He swarms his voyeur with icy blue intention, descending on prostrate thighs. She massages her shy admirer with flickering and liquid fingertips. The exchange is fiery and rhythmic, a crescendo of orgiastic revelry. Spent and exhausted they lie face pressed to an earth steaming with decomposing wildflowers and worms, the juices of their sex soaking rich soil.
As slumber approaches, voluptuous cries once again beckon sweetly in the breeze and the unquenched return to the path.
