d’jaevle

I don’t want to cut you
but I do want to see
what is inside of you
and cutting may be the only way.

—

It is the difference between asking a wolf to play.

And inviting the devil to.

A wolf wants to see you whimper.

The devil wants to see you cry.

A wolf will devour you. Sink teeth into your neck and claim you.

The devil will take you apart so thoroughly you will have nothing to hide behind but the weight of his hands.

A wolf wants to taste the heat between your thighs.

The devil wants to taste the tears on your cheeks.

When I say the devil wants to play.

This is what I mean.

I want to use without consideration.

Inflict pain without compassion.

I want abasement without reservation.

I want you so low to the ground that when my fingers tangle in your hair to lift your head, it is so you can breath.

I will nurse your injuries.

I will let you curl at my feet with my hand at the nape of your neck.

And then I will start again.

jericho doll

I knew the girl, but lost her name.
where her heart was kept
was not the same

I knew the shape, her silvered need
but not how deep the cut
to see her bleed

I lined each blade within a row
gave each a word (a word she’d know).
and I waited by the tower built
touched each edge, each blade and hilt.

predator’s creed

A predator wants most that which must be hunted.

Patient until the very last moment and then not patient not waiting not just or kind or thinking just hungry, just hunger itself, just close enough for the scent of rising heat to drive out all thoughts but that of bared flesh and the feast at hand.

There is a certain dark beauty in using skill and instinct when bringing to ground that which you chase; it is a prayer, an act of deadly seduction and the space between predator and prey is sacred because when it is gone there is nothing but the blood and viscera of desire.

It is the predator’s curse to feel most alive in the hunt; it is the prey’s fate to feel most alive when caught.

without

There are two ways to take you apart.

With care and deliberation.

And without.

Door, stairs, hardwood floor – no time, right here. Clothes ripped, pulled, pushed aside. Teeth and fingers and you wet, already wet, wet before you knocked, wet on the drive over, wet the moment I said the words “Come here.” that led you to me.

No thoughts. No words. Just bared intentions and the sound flesh makes when it’s abused. The sound an animal makes when it is caught and taken.

After: bruises on your thighs from the hard steps I pressed you into; bloodied lower lip where I bit too hard trying to taste you; teeth marks on your breasts; nipples aching; cunt sore.

Clothes no longer in a state to be worn outside the house.

But I make you wear them anyways when I send you home.

books and thorns

Do you believe in the beauty of rain?

Do you read books not to distract you from the world, but because it makes the world even more wondrous?

Do unexpected kisses make you shiver in delight?

Do you want to spend an evening naming your favorite villains while eating chocolate ice cream?

Do you like leather and lace?

Do you like to laugh while being naughty, and does being naughty make you laugh?

(does the word naughty make you laugh?)

Do thorns make you turn away, or will you pluck the rose despite the sting?

faultlines

I crack nails on stone to find rich soil
mold clay into flesh
and flesh into place
heat my hands between your thighs
so I can temper skin
into marble

a smooth
perfect
cage

I set chisel to bone
and wait for

“Please.”
lean into it
shell cracked, lines split
topology and braille

I never loved you so much as when your imperfections were mine to trace.