Category: General Musings

Whatever else deemed interesting enough to write about.

Mandrake Root

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 acknowledge 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.

placed.

you
are placed.

for you, I create
sanctuary

a sacred
space

with dark corners
    to hide in

a pedestal
    to stand
bared
    (exposed)
upon

light
    to dance
within

stained-glass windows
    to shatter

my hands
    to hold
care
  and
ply
  you

you
are placed.

to know
your place

another color

what if kindness
was a color

you could wear it all the time
in it’s bright and amazing glory
and know it would put a skip into the step
of all who saw you

you could draw a picture with it
put it into a flower
under a smiling sun
and W shaped birds
and those passing the fridge
would be happier
it existed

if only kindness
was as easy to share
as a color

if only.

grey wolf

So – you are wondering – after almost fifteen years, why is he posting poetry almost exclusively?

Well, I mean, who doesn’t love poetry?

Honestly, almost everything I share – prose, poetry, autobiographical – is shared with an intent to evoke a feeling.

And poetry is my sharpest knife. The fastest way to mainline my intent. To inject my current mood or feelings directly into the veins of those who read my words.

Life evolves. The wolf under my skin is still there, but he’s older, slightly (so very slightly) wiser – and just as hungry.

I never write for a particular audience. I always write for myself first, and for the attentive reader second. Throwing bottled words to the world to see what the tides would turn up.

NE is still here. She’s kneeling by my desk right now. I spend every weekend with her and Bear. In a moment I am going to have my hands around her neck and her breath is going to belong to me.

Like I said.

Some things never change.

stained glass

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

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

alone. with a wolf.

Captured.

You know.

It doesn’t have to be with rope wound around your wrists.

Or hands pinning your hips.

Or a gaze that holds you in place.

It could be with a word.

Or an idea.

It could be this.

You, with your eyes closed, listening to me.

It could be the way my words find their way inside of you. The way they describe the shape of a hunger you are too embarrassed to admit.

You could be captured right now.

Your pulse may be moving a bit faster.

Your skin may be warmer.

Your breath may catch.

It’s perfectly natural to feel that way.

It’s how prey react when caught.

It’s how humans react when they feel danger.

It’s how _you_ react when your base needs are laid bare.

I see you.

I see the parts you are trying to hide.

I see the silhouette of your desire in the tilt of your head.

I see the hungers you can’t admit in the shying of your eyes.

I see you. And I know you.

I know the you that has been down the path through dark woods. You’ve pricked your fingers on the rosebush thorns and tasting blood, swore to avoid those paths again.

And yet they call to you.

And yet the scars on your fingers make you smile.

And yet.

Here you are.

In the dark woods again.

Alone.

No, not alone.

With a wolf.

With me.

And you are captured.

Blindfolded. Bound. Mine.

You are not so delicate that you cannot be devastated.

I will not let you be detached.

You will be here. With me.

And you will be devoted.

Blindfold. Red silk. Leather belt.

I remove your sight so you can better focus on my words. In the dark, my touch is your only guide.

You don’t want to get lost do you? Stay close to my voice.

You can feel the silk I wind from wrist to wrist; it caresses your skin softer than my own touch. Silk is the definition of gentle but firm, wound ribbons about your wrists and arms until they are bound.

My belt is an imperfect instrument, but imperfect instruments are meant for impure acts. The tail of my belt rests atop the silk, binding your forearms together even tighter. It is not quite cruel, but it is not so gentle either.

I leave your bound arms above your head.

There. Now you are bound.

My knee nestles at the top of your thigh with just enough pressure to keep your lower half pinned where I want it.

The beauty of darkness is anticipation.

You wait.

Helpless.

Go ahead, tug at the silk and leather. I want you to.

The harder you test your binds, the better you know how well and truly caught you are. You know it. I know it. And your hidden self knows it best of all. You might not be ready to surrender but it’s her that is arching your hips to meet my knee in raw need.

You strain. You shiver. And you wait in the darkness.

I do not make you wait long.

My teeth find your nipples. One at a time I nip, I bite, I tease them until they ache, until they are painfully hard and sensitive.

Shall I show you a trick?

When your nipples are this sensitive…one lick…one light tug on them…and you can feel it in your clit. I pluck this string between your breasts and your clit until the line tightens into an instrument for me to play.

And I do.

You call me cruel. Is it cruelty if you want it? Need it?

I’m only getting started.

Because I will not relent. I’ll capture each nipple between my teeth and watch you writhe when my hand slides between your thighs to fill you and take possession of your cunt.

My hand knows you well. Two fingers curled inward. They are a perfect fit and they open you in a way nothing else I have done could have. Because now I am inside you, I am part of you, and I am claiming from within, fingers engaged in the forceful drive to make you ache.

How much stimulus can you handle? Teeth, nipples. Fingers, cunt. Did you forget my other hand? I rest it on the small of your back and then let your curves draw it down to your ass for a nice firm grip that lets me guide you harder onto my fingers.

I feel you tense. Your breath is ragged. You clench.

I stop.

Not yet.

I leave my fingers buried deep inside of you and leave a path of small bites along your hips until my lips are close enough to join them.

Can you feel my breath against the inside of your thighs?

My own breath is harsh. You’re not the only one that is hungry.

I nuzzle closer, finally drawing my fingers out to more fully part your thighs, leaving you open and vulnerable. I start with a light taste, a lick, just along the outside. But it’s not enough. I go deeper, tongue starting at the edge of your ass and drawn all the way up to your clit.

You’re not just shivering now. You are shaking. Your thighs tremble in my hands as I taste again, long slow licks, like a wolf lapping at a bowl of milk.

You taste divine.

My lips settle at your clit, and my teeth graze the edges. You feel like you are walking a tightrope, caught between razor ends. You’re only option is to fall.

And when my fingers slip inside of you while my tongue finds that perfect rhythm along the edge of your clit that makes your body hum.

You do. You fall.

You can feel it, can’t you? My tongue, my fingers. My words pulsating inside you. And that edge you need to claim is yours. And you are cumming for me.

And. You. Are. Devoured..