bruised knuckles and broken toys (revised)

Posted in Poetry on December 9th, 2020 by D'jaevle

we trade making a scene
for quiet today
is the cessation of dreams
the price we must pay?

hold onto these words, less we forget
that a lifetime of almosts
is one of regret

the longer I live
the more that I find
the things I miss most
are the dreams left behind

not callous, not simple, not shallow or clothed
but bared and complex, deep and exposed

not careful, not silent, not restrained or delayed
but reckless and furied, freed and remade

not counting the rings in the circles I’ve walked
but remembering the falls and the chances I’ve stalked

you can promise the peace of a path well traveled and tested
and I’ll show you my scars where the best have been bested

now tell me you’re listening
and I’ll tell you this:
a life that’s worth living
is too easily missed


Posted in Poetry on November 24th, 2020 by D'jaevle

even though it’s closed
there must be another side
to this door

I’ve never seen it open.
but I know you went through it

I think –
you lean against it
for my voice

even though its closed
there must be another side
to your story.


Posted in Poetry on November 23rd, 2020 by D'jaevle

there are so many ways
for you to unfold

remember that fortune-telling game
at school
calling out numbers
and colors
to determine 
what kind of house you will live in
hut / boathouse / mansion

life would be so much
if we limited to just 
a few

but anyone who has tried origami
can tell you.
even folding paper
is not simple

figurative vs. literal

Posted in Poetry on November 10th, 2020 by D'jaevle

I can touch the night sky.

reach up with both hands
peel back the black
and reveal that stars

they are the dust of our dreams.
bright and powerful enough
to burn holes in the void.

(for L&L)

not where you looked last

Posted in Crimson Writ, Poetry on October 29th, 2020 by D'jaevle

you want to disappear
but I know
all your

you want to be lost
but I know
it’s because
it means being

you want nothing.
but I know
you really
want everything

you’ve just
been taught
not to ask.


Posted in Crimson Writ, Poetry on October 12th, 2020 by D'jaevle

you cannot say
“this is enough.”
the thought
of your thighs
makes the world
too small
to hold


Posted in Crimson Writ, Poetry on September 13th, 2020 by D'jaevle


Posted in Crimson Writ on August 31st, 2020 by D'jaevle

the beauty of darkness
is the absence
of shame
and the possibility
everything else.

“No, don’t turn on the light. Stand there.”

You are silhouette in my door.

I am a voice in the room.


You do. Of course you do.

“Turn around.”

I watch you make a slow, almost timid, turn in place. There is just enough light for me to take in your naked curves.

“Good girl.”

“Now come in.”

“And close the door.”


Posted in Poetry on August 26th, 2020 by D'jaevle

you like to hold
your cup
like it might
if I speak.

I noticed today
that you put
all the glassware
behind the cereal

so I’m waiting
to see
if you ask me
for milk.


Posted in Crimson Writ on August 11th, 2020 by D'jaevle

“No, don’t move.”

My words rest precariously upon your skin.

You sway. Teeter.

It is hard to stand with your ankles bound tightly together.

And my fingers curled deep inside you from behind.

And my teeth nipping the edge of your ear.

And my cock pressing rigid and hot against your thigh.

But I expect you to do it anyway.