The Voluptuous Goddess
By: Esmerelda Jones
“When a man becomes familiar with his goddess, she quickly sinks into a woman” (Joseph Addison)
Her hair is a tumble of jasmine tendrils, and when she laughs her lips are like the intimate pink of an inner seashell. She reaches to you in honesty, belly scented and domed; skin glistening with olive oil and warm, cardamom honey… her strawberry flesh sweet with its own, cloying fragrance. You imagine her breasts holding rivers of milk to feed the earth with ecstasy. Whether she is a tight, young deer or a bowl of claret fruit, she is a Goddess.
Her appetite is pleased with plump fowl and fat pears. What the land has brought to her, she will have… exotic spices to flavor her food; plants to dye her cloth and make cosmetics; henna for enrichment of her hair and body artistry; animals to admire for their sleekness. The ocean is her sea-basket, and the mountains chant the songs of the ancestors.
Life is a Bacchus romp for Gods and Goddesses, and exuberance is their blood. Everything is celebrated, and in doing so, high thoughts perpetuate throughout the universe. The low and the mean snigger in their corners, watching the Goddess perform the dance of the sacred pearl. How wise she is, to know who she is. Step by step, with trilling bells she rises over the gloomy ones, pausing to present a pearlescent candle in honor of her Venus. Through the musky woods she will run with her stallion God, and leave the foulness behind. The stabbers of joy become unheard, misshapen faces… fainting candles dying in their thinning energy, unable to comprehend the cobra Spirit. Cobra sleeps; cobra awakens; cobra stirs; cobra rises; cobra speaks; cobra sees; cobra bites.
To take pleasure in life requires luxurious self-devotion. No Goddess should regret her happiness, or the stones she had to leap across to bring her to this moment. Sometimes it may be many years before the welts and bruises lead you to the throne of the Goddess, but in attaining this wisdom you will have acquired much expertise. Now become supple in your approach to life, and observe the insignificant things that the unknowing put much importance on. Be glad that you discovered your fears were as cinnabar leaves that tumble to the ground in the renewing season. You walked away from all that was required of you when you saw your Higher Self. Remember how startled you were to see “She, who is” in the mirror? You touched your hair and were shocked at penetrating your own eyes, for there you were, always were. Dare your fingers sense your body? Suddenly you feel virginal… guilt tattooed on you. You call to your Higher Self to unlock your spirit, for you want to know all of you. She, who is forever, kisses your shame away and trains you to be an orgasmic woman. Your stinging womb cries out tears of release, and enraptured, you smile at your dewy thighs, pungent with Moroccan rose and Turkish carnation. This is Aphrodite’s love philter.
Esmerelda Jones… writer of desires
Victoriana, Victorian Swoon & Erotica, The Wisdom & Romance of Ancient Greece.