Category: Crimson Writ

I want to be the blindfold that steals your sight; the cinnamon that burns your tongue; the silk that encircles your wrists; the words like pressed flowers between your thighs; the quiet stolen from your limbs; the promise unfulfilled.

Why these select items?

I want to be the blindfold that steals your sight, to describe the world in pearls and scarves; the cinnamon that burns your tongue, to soothe it with a kiss; the silk around your wrists, to describe how tightly limbs embrace; the words written along your curves, to be traced with unhurried touch; the quiet stolen, to feel you move. And the promise unfulfilled to be made whole.

RoseRed: Why is the best times to read are when we’re supposed to be fast asleep and to be rested for school the next day?

D’jaevle: Because your heart craves mischief like your head craves words. The last chocolate is best, the kiss stolen is sweetest, and books have the best secrets after dark.

—-

RoseRed: Every time I open the book, I read a sad line, sigh and close it again. I’m worried she’ll grow up, get old or worst of all – develop heart.

D’jaevle: We all grow hearts; it’s what make us such fragile creatures. But it’s the fact that we go on, knowing they most likely be shattered, that makes us brave.

I’ve never been good
    with straight lines

     I
  need
 curves.

I need
    a place
to rest my hands

grip and purchase

  hills
to climb

valleys      delve.
            to

hips that swing

   breasts that offer

thighs
 with weight
     upon my shoulders

I prefer succulence.

There is a certain way a leaf falls.

In the sun, it falls lightly.

In the wind, it careens with unexpected grace.

In the rain, it dances it’s way down betwixt silver drops.

And when you are the leaf, you fall like a raven’s cry. Or a misplaced key. Or the end of a poem.

You fall with eyes closed and arms outstretched.

I kiss a single hair until it is flame-promised. I whisper that you will be safe (as safe as those things that fall can be). And then I push you over.

I will watch you fall, not because I know where you are going (I do), and not to ensure you land the same creature you are now (you won’t). I watch you fall because having given you your second name, I must help you find your third and last.

We all have those moments where we have to decide between the dangers of what is wicked and the comfort of what is safe.

Whether to eat that last piece of Godiva chocolate.

Whether to run through the rain without an umbrella.

Whether to answer the words that pique your curiosity and make your pulse quicken.

I live for those moments. Because in the moment, before we decide, we are infinite. The possibilities are endless.

And as amazing as that moment is – what follows, letting yourself slip from the comfortable boundaries and try something new, something scary and invigorating – is even more important.

Because deciding to let yourself fall, to be wicked and free, is deciding that life is lived in the moments that make our breath catch and our heart race.

I want to create more moments like that.

Do you?

He spoke like heaven opening; the parting of his lips split her like ripened sugarcane.

“These aren’t words,” she thought, “They are mirrors. And his mouth is filled with them.”

You could pull shadows from his eyes, one after another, and watch his gaze go from black to gray, and he would never blink.

But sometimes he would smile. A small, almost-sad smile.

She collected him, if only to see what was hidden on the other side of it.