spilt
Posted in Poetry on August 26th, 2020 by D'jaevleyou like to hold
your cup
like it might
shatter
if I speak.
I noticed today
that you put
all the glassware
behind the cereal
so I’m waiting
to see
if you ask me
for milk.
balance
Posted in Crimson Writ on August 11th, 2020 by D'jaevle“No, don’t move.”
My words rest precariously upon your skin.
You sway. Teeter.
It is hard to stand with your ankles bound tightly together.
And my fingers curled deep inside you from behind.
And my teeth nipping the edge of your ear.
And my cock pressing rigid and hot against your thigh.
But I expect you to do it anyway.
Choked.
Posted in Crimson Writ, Poetry on August 10th, 2020 by D'jaevlechoked
on my words
placed
so delicately
upon your tongue
you are taught
to respect
prohibitions
by force
“what will you do
when my reach is so long
I can pluck your sins
like over-ripe cherries?”
your answer
is no answer at all
because you cannot speak
with my words
filling
and burning
your mouth
starvation
Posted in Crimson Writ on May 14th, 2020 by D'jaevle“I am watching,” said the Wolf.
The low rumble of a growl can never be mistaken for a purr, but the sound of a content wolf and a hungry one can be too close for comfort.
Your heat is a sinful garden, filled with dark scents from a blood winter. I want to harvest you, reap the dew of a long hibernation from your fevered skin.
It is Spring and you rise on unsteady legs. You ache from being in one place for too long.
Abstinence has left you empty of everything but cruel memories.
Your limbs tremble with the need to run.
It is too early for a hunt.
But dawn is not so far away.
haecceity
Posted in Crimson Writ on April 1st, 2020 by D'jaevleA locket the size of a heart, if the heart was made to be kept close.
She held it in her hand, small fingers curled to nestle it against her soft cheek; indeed, she was a small girl, but her heart wasn’t small.
The locket held a secret – but then, that is the nature of a locket, so it is no surprise.
What the secret is, isn’t what is important. What she did with it is.
Because small girls, little girls, are not meant for secrets. They are meant for sunshine, and curiosity, and spinning in circles until they fall down.
So she did what any sensible little girl would with a secret.
She put it in her heart.
And because her heart was so much larger then her fear or her hope or her world, the secret became just another piece of her heart, neither defining it nor becoming lost.
blank spaces
Posted in Crimson Writ, Poetry on March 25th, 2020 by D'jaevlewhat if all the blank spaces
are just hiding places
for my devils?
and I fill this page with words
to overturn their homes
pluck them by their wings
and make them mine again
bright light
Posted in Crimson Writ, Poetry on February 20th, 2020 by D'jaevleyou are
a bright light.
a soft curve
unrepentant
but forgiving
you are today’s delight
the space between each breath
and sometimes
breath itself
never enough
Posted in Poetry on February 8th, 2020 by D'jaevleThere is not enough of you.
Not enough of the special brand of mischief
your eyes promise.
Not enough of your promiscuous laugh
that has made itself so comfortably at home in my heart.
Not enough of your crooked smile,
or the map of your thighs in the morning
a lazy but confident promise
if only
I will stay in bed.
There is not enough of you.
so I stole your shadow from a sunny day
to shade me while I read
I convinced your reflection to follow me home
and watch me as I write.
There is not enough of you,
so I will write you into a line,
a poem
a book
a dream.
i see you breathe
Posted in Crimson Writ, Poetry on January 29th, 2020 by D'jaevlei steal
your breath
just
to
make
your
lips
part
for
me
hungry heart
Posted in Crimson Writ, Poetry on January 3rd, 2020 by D'jaevlethere was a moment
when her eyes
met mine
that I
knew
she would be
poised
parted
and
perfect
I would know her
through her
beautiful eyes
and she would know me
through
my
hungry heart