That which presents itself as desirable is masked. Sooner or later the mask falls, unmasking anguish, death, the annihilation of the perishable being. In truth, you aspire to night, but you must follow a detour and love figures capable of being loved. The possession of pleasure heralded by such desirable possession of figures is quickly reduced to the disarming possession of death. That is why the space of voluptuousness is the space of deception.
Deception is the basis and final truth of life.
Desire and love get mixed up. If it does not flee you, in fright must you flee love. Lovers find each other on condition that they tear each other apart. Both one and the other must have a thirst for suffering. For them must desire desire the impossible.