Author: D'jaevle

ravenous

Describe this hunger.

Use sharp words, words filled with edges. Words with heat, words that sear when laid out against your thoughts.

Words that are not nearly enough.

This hunger demands more; this hunger is not attraction. It is not desire. It is not physical lust.

It feeds on them. It uses them to find purchase inside you. It is stronger then physical need or mental addiction. It goes beyond craving. It moves unceasingly under your skin, feral and raw. It overrides all other social imperatives. The cold mask it wears hides the pulsating need underneath.

This hunger doesn't react – it is. It is your hand finding her neck as you push her roughly to the ground. It is the sound of the front door closing and clothes shoved aside for a hard fuck against the wall.

—

[audio:Djaevle_Aphrodisiac.mp3]
D'jaevle, Aphrodisiac

just too damn spooky

halloween
and dracula's purring, heard the blood
in the next room
came a-runnin'
all courtly like,
(sabre-toothed smile
notwithstanding)
but i knew his type.
'no food here' i said.
so he left

sucker.

entre vous

I think…to answer your first question, I have to answer your last.

It's not whether these attributes bring me happiness. They bring with them moments of sinful decadence, joy, sorrow, pain, laughter. They are the same attributes that linked us together at the beginning, and have threaded through our relationship ever since; in our time together, your own values of loyalty and innocence have become principles just as essential. The pain is where these threads conflict.

For me, it has always been about balancing my hungers (and I use hunger to describe both the desires I've cultivated since I was fourteen and the manner in which I remind myself I'm alive) against the stability and comfort of friends who both love and have faith in me.

You embody both, to me.

I manage my hunger through many means other then sexual predation. My motorcycle. Trips to shows, to the mountains. Sky diving. Hand gliding. Writing.

But they complement my hunger, not satiate it.

By nature, the greater the risk and danger in an act, the sharper it is felt. And even if the conscious mind doesn't acknowledge it, you can't convince wolf otherwise.

falling in autumn

She says she can remember the scent of my skin.

On her knees, face resting against my stomach, I drown my fingers in the soft curls of her hair and ask her to draw the memory for me.

I listen, but my mind is on the language; learning to see her through familiar eyes, my gaze is tinted by self-inflicted cynicism. My touch has been forced to learn a new dialect, a deviation from the vernacular of innocence she knows so well. We had lost touch with the indulgences embraced for so long; I needed to touch the spaces it once belonged to, run fingers over ragged edges, and learn her anew.

the hard fuck

She was naked from the bottom down and I could feel the heat from between her thighs as I pressed the back of them open with my knee. The cold calculation that frames most of my actions had been lost minutes earlier when she had shown up at my door. Minutes, because it hadn't taken long after that first kiss to find the bedroom, to drag her jeans and panties over hips and legs, to turn her around and push her over the bed, my hands wrapped tightly around her wrists to keep her still.

The line between desire and need can be erased in a single touch.

It happened for me the moment I kissed her, really kissed her, when she came through the door. No games, no teasing, just a mutual imperative to be fucked.

And now she was under me and the impact of my thighs hitting her ass as I entered her drove all other thoughts from my mind. My fingers tightened around her wrists as I drew back far enough to drive into her with force and I was inside her again, hard, hard enough to make her body shudder against the bed. There was no rhythm to my fucking, just ragged intensity, and she moved with me, ass meeting each thrust so that I took her deeper, relentlessly pounding her into the bed.

the road to perdition

He comes when you need him but never when expected.

He is impatiently patient; he waits with unconcealed desire.

He will always tell the truth, but never tell you what you most want to know.

His eyes are not without kindness, but you will never understand it; even his kindness has purpose.

He will not settle.

—

[audio:Djaevle_DevilArriving.mp3]
D'jaevle, Devil Arriving

sonno

my sinister sleep
clings, wraps full arms around me
coyly buxom and full of honeyed memory
her silky weeds are my lover's hair
tangled between fingers, plump thighs
and my awakening

she keeps me close

flying

There were tears in my eyes from the wind.

The world is a different place at 5000 feet, and when your hanging from a glider, bleeding altitude in sharp turns and steep stalls, the world is a roller coaster of green and blue.

Leaning forward lowered the front of the glider and I picked up speed at the expense of height. The landing strip was now about 1300 feet below; I shifted my weight to the left, nudging the glider into a graceful turn that left us lined up for a landing, and then pulled back while leaning to the right to straighten us out and settle us at trim speed.

The landing, when it came, was swift and a bit bumpy. I extricated myself from the harness, feeling earth under my feet for the first time in an hour.

I was smiling when I walked away.

fountain of splinters

A carving, a slow deliberate cut, curled petals sharp enough to splinter; known touch with fingers outstretched, following the grooves, the moist wooden harbor I fight to free you from.

I worshiped you once, as goddess and tree. Your heartbeat was stronger then mine, slow as molasses and timed for the season. Your roots went deeper, stretching far enough back to taste the earth.

And you danced. Oh, how you danced, your gown of red and yellow tattered by the song, your arms stretched to the sun and the moon and the stars. You danced; but you danced only for the wind.

I wanted you to dance for me.

—

Who will earn your tears?

Who will taste the evidence of your sorrow?

Who will kiss away the remnants of your joy?

I will.