Goddess Part 1: 2nd Draft

***Side note: I am working on an actual backstory. So for the love of fucking god, someone critique me so I have a better idea which direction to take. 

Amari packed her bags and left for New York, where she would be collaborating with Central Living Magazine on a fundraiser for homeless LGBTQ+ youth. London only had to wait 3 short weeks for her return, but even the short-term absence from her felt like an incredibly long time.

Before Amari left, they decided to play a game. The rules were simple- neither one of them would pleasure themselves while she was away. No masturbating, and obviously no seeking pleasure from other people. Amari vowed to make it worthwhile when she arrived home. London, fully aroused by the idea, agreed.

While London would never even consider breaking a promise made to Amari, the fact that she couldn’t obtain that sexual pleasure and release made her want it even more. It only took a handful of days after her departure for London to find their little game insufferable.

“Leave it to Amari to come up with the greatest tease of all time.” She thought to herself as she lay alongside the empty spot on her bed, giving her all not to obsess over it. She turned onto her side and inhaled deeply; a failed attempt to clear her head. Unknowingly, she breathed in remnants of Amari’s lemongrass shampoo that had, over the course of time, been stitched into the seams of her pillow. It went straight to her head and she forfeited. Thoughts, powerful and energetic, invaded her. Amari’s bare body covering hers, arm muscles tightening as she shifted herself back and forth, her hair falling in London’s face as she traced the edges of her collar bone with her loose lips.

Amari’s mouth, a paintbrush with bristles made from flesh, painted the most profound stories- not only of relentless want and desire, but of the freedom to express and act on it- all over London’s body. She was so in-tune, so precise, so careful to make sure she covered every inch of her canvas with hot, wet paint before moving on. Always so thorough. Always one color at a time. Always setting London completely on fire, burning straight through her skin, and setting vivid flame to the very depths of her spirit.

Dear God, how London had spent 3 weeks in perfect agony, longing to be covered from head to toe in Amari’s stories. Now, she lies next to her lover, wayward in her presence. The air is damp, her skin sticky. The space between her inner thighs is a sweltering mix of sweat and cum. The heat radiating from the side window has her feeling feverish, but she doesn’t want to close the blinds. Bright sun rays highlight Amari’s face; revealing every line, every newest wrinkle and fold, every unruly blemish. She wants to take every delicate imperfection, turn them inside out, and etch them into her brain so the memory of this moment will never leave her.

She’s hungry for Amari… starving. She wants nothing more than to rip her clothes off and feel the entirety of her body beneath her kiss, to taste the salt from her skin, to be completely consumed by her essence.

This view of Amari, spread out in bed with her true and authentic beauty illuminating in the sunlight, makes it nearly impossible for London to grasp onto patience as this little game continues. She knows Amari is the one with the intent to drag it out. She can see it in her eyes, waiting to see how long London can hold out until she makes the first move is bringing her immense satisfaction. She could probably experience an orgasm right now at the mere thought of it. Although there’s no doubt she is just as eager to reach out for London and turn fantasy into reality. This gives London the upper hand; she knows it would take the smallest gesture for their self-contained urges to erupt into every corner of that room.

London studies the ridged, interconnecting pathways of scar tissue on Amari’s cheek; visualizing the process in which each layer of skin formed slowly over time to heal the once present wound. She likes the scar. She rests her forehead against it, internalizing its warmth. Amari pulls herself closer. She begins running her fingers through London’s unshaven leg hair- a delicate, overgrown forest. Such a place is uninhabited- just as raw, just an unkempt, just as earthly as her partner- bringing Amari back into her very own natural state.

Chains

Give me liberty
Or let my soul die

We as people
Are merely wild beings
Not meant to be bound

Untamed. Uncut. Beastly.
Overgrown. Lush. Earthly.
Not meant to be inhibited

These parts of us
Perfectly designed to remain uninhabited by other people
Bulldozing through our elaborate forests
Mass destruction to our essential nature
Telling us to be more simple
With every tree cut down
Telling us to thrive

Building corporate houses
On desolate surfaces
Which remain empty
Nothing left
To feed the greedy

_____________________________________

To hinder my independence
Is to cage me
Provide me nothing to quench my thirst
And watch my spirit dry up

I promise you
It will happen ever-so-quickly

So do not be fooled
By my seemingly hard character
I am no breaker of chains
No, these chains would break me

And you

To repress my will
To place restraints on my intensity
Is to throw salt to a flame
And expect some form of clarity

Stare too long at your beloved good deed
Of torching this foundation
Your eyes will crisp and bleed

Every shot at bringing morale to morality
Throwing salt to the flame
Further diminishing your ability to see

You couldn’t succeed
In being grounded within me
You also could not stand to watch me fly
NEITHER COULD I

Give me liberty
You’d rather watch my soul die

Rather watch me burn
Grasp onto your final fading hope
That any part of me
Any part of me at all
Burns for you

Waiting game
Tighten your chains
Every strike of the axe will burn
But is it burning me?

Seriously,
Is it?

_____________________________________

Do your chains burn?