little wren
would not descend
or give me more
than planned
but she
found out
without a doubt
when I told her
where to
stand
Category: Crimson Writ
Where my words give lie to the wolf under the skin.
red and orange
you fall like autumn
tumbling
towards winter
as if the cold
will keep you safe
across my lap
There is something beautifully exposing and intimate about a spanking.
Naked curves, a firm hand, and flesh warmed by a skilled hand.
And the hunger that follows; the slow unravelling into the vortex of heat under that hand. Left supple and pliant, laid out to have hands and tongue ease the pain into the precipice of pleasure.
just me
I have a confession.
i want to make you mine
make you yield
like a sign
see you kneel’d
to my divine
nature
so fine
defined by steeled
intent, sublime
taught, taunt, heeled
to my mind
kind of nature
we both know you’ll find
no even-keeled
kind of nature
just me
persephone
There is no plateau to the kind of hunger I harbor with you. There is just falling.
I am under your heart. I beat against it; the voice of my wolf is the roar of your blood. Torn and tattered is the only way you can perceive the truth of my hunger.
just, so (r)
so many faces
and none that hide
the razors
under your skin
avoid mirrors
hide behind
beautiful curves
so none can see
just how weary
you
are
just – you think – stay too busy to think
and outpace the demons
except, the one.
who can make your devils
His own
ballerina
pioned, posed
tangled in the river
between
your cleft
and the skill of my craft
I see you, there.
Standing, arms over your head, rope firmly wound about each wrist.
Carving curves with a firm grip in your hair, drawing your eyes close to mine and your ass out and up so I can drink all of you in.
It is nothing new to hold you on the edge between pleasure and pain, but I find newfound joy in watching your eyes first widen and then roll up as my fingers find your nipples, making you dance on your toes against the electric current between my hand and the clenching need between your thighs.
You are never so beautiful as when you are exposed and mine.
gypsy
captured.
in stolen light;
curved, come-hither
smile.
regal gypsy
fools-gold
if the best of us
were the kind of fools
who knew the price
of you.
fleet ing
there is something
ephemeral
about a touch
it makes me think of
a kiss
on the palm
a cold nose
against my cheek
the accident of life
that makes a cool breeze
feel like the world can
breathe
things you (don’t) forget
how do you forget
how it tastes?
say, a grape.
succulent, sweet, and leaving you wanting more.
you don’t.
you try an apple
or two
watch the sky
hoping a cloud
will tarot a new shape for you
and you smile
because it is a beautiful day, and an apple is nice.
but,
you think
that grape.