i know your devils well

Posted in Crimson Writ on October 31st, 2019 by D'jaevle

Tell me your secrets.

The dirty ones.

The ones you hide even from your closest friends because you fear they will judge you.

Share with me the wicked daydreams that slip into your days unbidden, making you unexpectedly wet. The kind that shock you in their vividness and make you blush at your own audacity.

Whisper to me the things you are afraid to admit because speaking aloud only makes them more real.

And tempting.

Show me the darker side of you. The shadowed places you go to when you’re right at the edge, the unthinkable taboos that give you a release so hard you are left trembling.

Ashamed, you swear to never go there again.

Until you do.

Don’t be afraid.

Let me in.

I know your devils well.

The Minotaur and the Maiden

Posted in Crimson Writ on October 28th, 2019 by D'jaevle

Alright, little girl, it is time for sleep.

Oh? You want to hear a story first?.

Are you nestled into your bed, nice and cozy?

Do you have your favorite stuffed animal? No? I suggest you get it and hold on tight.

This story can be rather scary.

Everyone knows about Theseus, the Greek hero who slew the Minotaur in his labyrinth.

But he was only the last in a line of sacrifices Athens sent to King Minos in tribute. For years, seven men and seven women were sent to slake the Minotaur’s lust for flesh.

This is the story of one them, a young maiden by the name of Clio.

Do you think you know darkness?

You do not know darkness.

Even before fire was invented, there were stars to light up the night sky.

Within the Labyrinth, there were no night, there were no stars. Just walls.

To be in darkness is to be lost.

And Clio was completely, utterly, lost.

She could not see anything. Not her hands in front of her face. Not the water she could hear dripping along the stone walls.

Not the creature whose breathing she could hear echoing around her. Deep, almost labored breaths, like a bellows. The kind of breaths that swallowed the air around it and came out as a gutteral release of power.

The breathing of a beast.

A very large and hungry beast.

A large, hungry, beast who was very close.

His scent was almost overwhelming, a mix of animal musk and human sweat.

And to poor Clio’s horror, her body responded. Base instinct of fear warred with an even baser instinct to rut with something capable of dismantling her.

The line between what is powerful enough to protect and powerful enough to destroy was too thin for her id to decide upon.

Which left her terrified, trembling, and in heat.

Clio didn’t need sight to know when He was close; his presence was palpable. His labored breaths felt as well as heard. He towered over her, his breath heating her skin as he drew in her own scent.

His hands. His hands were remarkably human. Human, but so very large. They lifted her as if she was a toy and pinned her against the stone wall. Rough fingers rested atop her hips and she knew.

She knew she was his.

She knew she was to be sacrificed to his hunger.

And she was.

He drove inside of her without pause, without question. A claiming in the basest sense.

He wasn’t just inside her. He owned her. She could feel him in a way that made everything else in her life less real. This. Him. His cock. Was everything.

She could feel him driving into her, over and over again until she was driven outside her body, his presence enough to fill the absence she left.

And yet.

And yet.

She could feel everything.

Every vein on his cock.

Every bellowing breath against the top of her head.

His hands, his large hands, holding her there.

It took forever.

And it didn’t take long at all.

She didn’t remember blacking out.

She didn’t remember anything after that.

Because that kind of hunger.

Takes everything.


Posted in Crimson Writ, Poetry on October 26th, 2019 by D'jaevle

golden aura
laughing eyes
and you
so perfectly

radiance as raiment
which is nothing at all
your bared self
a miracle
of beauty

elegant undoing

Posted in Crimson Writ, Poetry on September 24th, 2019 by D'jaevle

Tell me where you are most brave.

so I may pluck it from you
sip the sweet marrow of your surrender
and make your hunger mine


Posted in Crimson Writ on September 17th, 2019 by D'jaevle

i set you down
so you may look up.

if I told you
that the way you tilt
your head
to meet

is a fist.

fingers entangled in hair
a heart in curled fingers
a punch to the gut

the laughter of gods

Posted in Poetry on September 5th, 2019 by D'jaevle


I wait for it, window open, clove between two fingers, whiskey like gasoline at hand.

thunder is a pulse

metallic scent, soft rain, and then –


thunder. Thunder. THUNDER.

unambigous altar

Posted in Crimson Writ, Poetry on August 21st, 2019 by D'jaevle


one word.

one unambiguous word.


you, prey.

I. Prey.

one word.

a universe of intentions.

I prey, but entwined with

I desire.

you – prey, but entwined with

fierce, singular, selfhood.

I prey on your raised


(bared ass, all fours, caught, defile, devoured)

you – prey, of a mind, of a moment.

of surrender.

somewhere in the middle.

we prey together.

the way you bruise

Posted in Crimson Writ, Poetry on August 11th, 2019 by D'jaevle

you were a dream I had
more light than thought
more thought than real
more real than waking

you were a dream I had
and you were

and you





Posted in Crimson Writ, Poetry on August 5th, 2019 by D'jaevle

you are my vessel
for drowning

i fill you with
the way your leg looks
hooked over the edge of the tub

the droplets that gather
in concave and curve
tiny mirrors shaped
by your breasts

the weight of my regard
tips you over

stained glass

Posted in General Musings on July 22nd, 2019 by D'jaevle

there is too much color
stained glass
to capture
your reflection
but I see you in the way
the pieces

i made you that way
poured your words
into dark places
to ferment

a drought
of moments

bleached of light
i could still taste
crimson and clove
in the apertif
of you