the legacy of sita

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Her coffee brown skin blends
In the drunk shades of dusk
Her eyes,the metaphors of
Her magical metamorphosis
From the seducing enchantress to the
Doe eyed muse she was.
Spirits of earth and fire
Entangled in the hollows of her collarbones
And her honey bosom rising and falling
With erotic passion.
Her wild curves led to deep rivers
Between the musk of her tender thighs
And to valleys where only violet flowers bloomed;
Nocturnal waters of desire
Where untold stories and secrets of womanhood are told
Basked in the silent moans of her orgasms
Oh, but no.
She isn’t supposed to dive deep into her own sexuality, is she?
Her bare breasts pose perils to your testifications don’t they?
Shouldn’t she compromise her feminity for your thousand year old tales of misogyny?
All because you could never bear to see her as the dominatrix,
You always wanted her to be the victim.

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