Desire is never with us, it's pawing with a past relationship or pushing its nose into a half-baked chocolate cake. It never looks through your eyes, it cuts out little almond-shaped holes in a sheet of paper and hopes that the silhouette of eyes signifies sight. It's not entirely convincing, but like the concentric patterns on a butterflies wings you habitually respond to the illusion and are lead into assuming that when you see the object of your desire, you're looking with your innermost eyes, your deep set eyes that sit in the sockets of your soul. I don't really dig that, most especially because being desirous is essentially putting love beyond your reach in the past which is dead or in the future which doesn't exist.
How do you curb desire? I've no idea.
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