Artifice

It would seem, upon this sombre noon, that my friend comported himself, in the fashion of a distrait adolescent wearied by the very symptoms of angst. Some novel prejudice, had affected his conscious, half with deplorable apathy and half with inquisitive concern. Perhaps there was more to it, for the immaculate vocabulary infringed within his laden lips, had been derived of purport and yet, I feel it initiated me into familiar sentiments. I paused as we were treading beyond the abut of a desolate field, and inspired abiding concurrence to my station.

"Philip, is it that woman, is she the one who has you so thoughtful?" And with this, my partner rested his chin upon his forefinger, as if anticipating some epiphany, to congratulate his ruminations. At length a sinister smile, darkened his visage, and he pursued his decadent unbosoming with the words,

"Ah yes Victor, she is a beauty, such tender perfumed skin, awaiting my mighty ravishing, we must learn of her name" and with this, I receded, for I had not seen him, so imbued with unhealthy passions. It is only after the interjection of a bashful zephyr, that I pronounced my concerns with more vigor,

"Philip, I fear it is only lust that poisons your whims, you cannot expect me to concur!" And then to this, he only laughed with abasing brevity, before continuing on his course, with a more subdued disposition.

"Listen my friend, you will call my rhapsody debauched, in the name of childish idealism, and I shall be the enemy of all things lovely, but do you avow that the passions of romance can commence without this catalyst, which is pulchritude. If you believe yourself righteous, in your repudiation of pleasure, in your unyielding abnegation then you are neither sentient of your being, nor can you fathom the inherency of your function. The apocalyptic revelation of disinhibited hedonism as you may call it, by Puritan hyperbole, is only the naked obscenity of truth, the human instinct when pursued with will and self appropriation. Hence those who do not lust are not truly alive, is it not so?" And with this he grinned, and his strides elongated towards me, with machiavellian stateliness. At length, his employed footing rested immideately before me, and with an eerie enlargement of his distrait eyes, and a hideous grin, he stroked the side of my cheek and continued, with erratic quivers.

"Calm yourself friend, I do not desire that woman, it was only humor. Whom I desire is you, your eyes, your hair, your lips, your scent it is only you that I desire!"