savage beast

Posted in Crimson Writ on March 31st, 2022 by D'jaevle

I knew it the first time I saw you.

Or, rather, the wolf inside of me did.

He knew exactly how you would look on all fours, caught between the tension of my fingers buried in the back of your hair and my cock driving you into the edge of the bed.

Wolves speak a language that is eloquently savage.

I listen to my wolf, but know we must defer to human customs: I cannot simply drag you into the next room and sink my teeth into your skin to mark you as mine.

So I ask most kindly.

And you say yes. Because there is nothing that makes you feel quite so alive as giving yourself over to a hungry predator.

Don’t worry, I tell you. It will only hurt for a moment.

But it is the wolf speaking, and he lies. He’s going to make the ache last for a very long time. He likes to play with his meal, drawing it out until you are lost between taunt pleasure and sheer hunger.

Wolves prefer their feasts to be seasoned by anticipation and surrender.

Nails bite into your breasts, leaving red marks you will find yourself touching the next day with a shiver.

Warm breath tickles the insides of your thighs, seductively gentle and hiding the teeth that will find your most tender places.

I am listening to your heartbeat now.

_We_, the wolf and I, are listening to your heartbeat now.

It moves to outpace my hunger, but it cannot. It is not possible. My hunger, our hunger, is faster than thought. It is need incarnate.

You are bruised by my touch, but not because I am ungentle. You cannot help but struggle against yourself, arching your hips to find that which I keep from you, twisting your wrists to escape and pull me closer.

But a wolf knows. It knows you are not ready yet.

Not till you have offered up everything. Not until there is nothing you are holding back. Until your very breath begs for release.

Now.

Promise me you’ll be a good girl.

And I’ll let you meet my wolf.

strange dreams

Posted in Poetry on March 23rd, 2022 by D'jaevle

I harbor strange dreams.
at night, I inhabit
locales of wonder

tripping over
rusty, gold-glimmer crooked grins
lavender scented heart-stones
discarded keepsakes (lost, not broken)

this one, here.
I named hope
but I’ve forgotten
why.

belly of the beast

Posted in Crimson Writ, Poetry on February 15th, 2022 by D'jaevle



(not) finite.

(you) misapprehend my hunger.

here. hold your hand to the night sky
to measure its depth
by reach
or
close your fingers
around the stars
and

tell me
  how many
  you can hold

tell me
  the distance between the darkness,
  your captured stars,
  and my
     hunger.

tell me
  you already had this dream
  that the sky
  is no darker
  than the belly
  of my beast.

tell me
  you understand that submission
  and salvation
  can both be found
  on your knees

lit

Posted in Poetry on September 28th, 2021 by D'jaevle

you are a constellation

a map of suns

bright enough

to see through closed eyes

Mandrake Root

Posted in Crimson Writ, General Musings on August 25th, 2021 by D'jaevle

It is said that darkness provides the cover needed to be our true selves.

There is truth in that. In the grace of dark cover, away from curious eyes, we are often granted the bravery necessary to ackonowledge our more wicked sides.

But it is not enough.

Because it is only when you are seen as your most wicked self that it becomes something real. Something not just awknowledged, but embraced.

Listen.

You are most honest when held by a gaze that doesn’t judge. Under the eyes of someone who accepts all parts of you, you can unfurl, reaching towards truth and allow your walls to lower. It is there that you find fertile soil to let your hungers grow.

And I – I am large enough of self to provide the shade you need to be brave. I am confident enough to let the vines find purchase about my limbs.

And I am strong enough to help you nurture that garden that I might pluck the fruit from the vines, sink my teeth into plump curves, and savor your secret self.

last bitten

Posted in Crimson Writ, Poetry on August 23rd, 2021 by D'jaevle

this is your last chance.

the last open door

the last bit of daylight

the last choice
before all the rest
belong
to
me.

petite

Posted in Poetry on August 16th, 2021 by D'jaevle

be the rain for me.

kiss my cheeks
and bless my lips

hide my tears
with your own

wash away
all things
but
this.

(the rain)
(and you)

toc

Posted in Poetry on July 27th, 2021 by D'jaevle

the unwinding of clocks
reminds me that momentum
is relentless
unless you have
teeth.

wolf teeth

Posted in Captured - Sinful Speech, Crimson Writ on July 20th, 2021 by D'jaevle

what if I told you
there was a wolf
who knew where you slept
and wasn’t afraid
to set his teeth
against your dreams
and make them his.

if you are marked
by intent
(gripped from behind, tangled hair in rugged claws)
would you offer
yourself to the wolf?

in the grip

Posted in Crimson Writ, Poetry on June 24th, 2021 by D'jaevle

you are one breath away from being in the grip of my hunger.

just one.

one breathe is forever.

it’s long enough to feel fear.

convinction,

anticipation.

desire,

doubt,

surrender.

one breath is long enough to meet my eyes

and after that

you have no time at all.