alone. with a wolf.

Posted in Captured - The Spoken Word, Crimson Writ, General Musings on February 12th, 2019 by D'jaevle


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.


No, not alone.

With a wolf.

With me.

And you are captured.

what sharp teeth

Posted in Captured - The Spoken Word, Crimson Writ on September 17th, 2018 by D'jaevle


Yes, you.

The one pretending to be shy.

Come here.

No. Closer.

What? I’m not going to bite.


I lied.

I will bite.

But that’s the least of the things for you to fear.

But you need not be _too_ afraid. You will enjoy every last one of them.

How can I tell?

I haven’t even touched you and you are already trembling.

No. I’m not going to tell anyone.

No. I am not afraid of the secrets you hide.

Yes. I am going to eat you.

But before I eat you, I need you…primed.

Mmmm. What am I doing?

I’m finding your pulse. Setting teeth to wrist and lips to throat. I am nipping at your skin until the blood rises with your heat and you feel fevered.

I want you well warmed.


I want you burning.

Scald my hands. Make it hurt. I expose you layer by layer, until your bared skin sears my flesh. Your vulnerability is a poison I drink eagerly.

We will both die the little death tonight.


Are you shivering?

I have stolen all your heat. I have marked you as my own.

But I am not done.

My hand, on yours…yes, I want it there. Nestled between your thighs. I can feel your fingers move under my own.

I don’t need to tell you what to do.

You can’t stop yourself.

Wicked girl.

Wicked, beautiful, sinful, girl.

I cannot wait for desert.


Posted in Captured - The Spoken Word, Crimson Writ, Poetry on September 15th, 2018 by D'jaevle

do not pity Midas
for turning love to gold

envy him
for capturing a moment

if I had his gift
you would be an altar
for my sins

preparing for winter

Posted in Captured - The Spoken Word, Crimson Writ, Poetry on September 14th, 2018 by D'jaevle

little red went riding

and found the woods too cold

now she’s nestled next to me

doing what she’s told

‘S’ is for sweetly, sumptuous, and sinful

Posted in Captured - The Spoken Word, Crimson Writ on December 8th, 2010 by D'jaevle

I am in love with language.

Oh, and I am in lust as well.

D’jaevle, Therefore to be Won

irreverence in place

Posted in Captured - The Spoken Word, Crimson Writ on September 21st, 2009 by D'jaevle

At heart, we are needful.

We crave life in all it’s inglorious beauty. We want to experience it stripped naked of pretense.

And we all share a fundamental desire to test ourselves against the razor-thin lines between what is safe and what is possible.

These are my thoughts, tonight; my desires; my needful things.

D’jaevle, Serenity


Posted in Captured - The Spoken Word, Crimson Writ on June 10th, 2009 by D'jaevle

If I tell you a story, will you tell me one in return?

D’jaevle, Art of the Flesh

but the fucking isn’t sweet

Posted in Captured - The Spoken Word, Crimson Writ on March 12th, 2009 by D'jaevle

My hunger, today, is filled with sharp edges. It tastes of iron and old blood. Like the cracks in a shattered windshield, its fingers spider across the surface of my thoughts, coloring my perceptions and forcing my attention to a place I have long ignored in favor of more immediate, less challenging, options.

D’jaevle, Bad, Bad, Thing

bare trees, naked women

Posted in Captured - The Spoken Word on January 20th, 2009 by D'jaevle



D’jaevle, Fountain Of Splinters



predator’s creed

Posted in Captured - The Spoken Word, Crimson Writ on December 1st, 2008 by D'jaevle


Evil is a craft.

It takes patience.


And more than a little wickedness.

I am a pretender to decency, a saint to the fallen, and I weave the baskets that will take us all to hell.

D'jaevle, Admission of Guilt