and now i’m drenched in desire.

feral and writhing at the hand that feeds me
and everyone always feeds me.

there’s no use in waiting
or wading in the grass

yet, i still feel the blades upon my back
every drop of wet wet dew caresses me
and the breeze shimmers me tauntingly.

now, i twist and contort at the touch of something new
and it rises up in me,
this new longing,
this new pining.

won’t you satisfy me?
won’t you give me what i deserve?

and i know that i will see you again
under the shade of the night
covered in sticky sweat
and love’s delight.

and until then,
nothing else will satisfy me.
nothing can compare.

and soon, so soon,
you will own my flesh
and you’ll have me, rare.

They told me —
a woman’s hunger
should be poetic,
not physical.
Desire should be folded
into metaphors
and hidden in kitchen drawers
behind cumin and shame.

But my lips
do not write verses
to please you.
They burn with wanting—
not your approval,
but my own arrival
into a body
that I refuse to apologize for.

You called me dangerous
because I asked for more
than survival.

You called me broken
because I moaned without fear
and dared to say
what women were only allowed
to whisper into pillows
after the lights went out.

I am not the fire
that ruined your perfect home.
I am the fire
you lit
and ran from.

I touched myself
and did not shatter.
I confessed to desire
and did not turn to stone.
I spoke of my body
as mine—
and that
made your temples tremble.

You said,
“This is why women are left.”
“This is why marriages die.”
“This is why daughters should be quiet.”
“This is why God gave shame to Eve.”
And I replied—
“No. This is why women are reborn.”

Your disaster
is not my doing.
It is your brittle masculinity
cracking under the weight
of a woman
who refuses to be less.

I lit a lamp inside me,
and you called it a wildfire.
But don’t mistake my flame
for your ruin.
I burn to become — not to destroy.

Her laugh, rain-soaked, cups creamy heated skin.
Together undress dusk, fingers white as steam.
Cold kissed our thighs—short cotton skirts, oh so thin—
Warm breath finds cold lips, fogged glass between their world and our dream.

Together undress dusk, fingers white as steam.
Our bath—hot, cold *******-to-back, a drip, within my embrace.
Warm breath finds cold lips, fogged glass between their world and our dream.
Gentle waves of my hand, her blond silk sighs search our secret place.

Our bath—hot, cold *******-to-back, a drip, within my embrace.
Her hands cup my world—her breath a hush, lost between my thighs.
Gentle waves of my hand, her blond silk sighs search our secret place.
I softly hold her pulse—a tremble—a longing to bloom, where silence lies.

Her hands cup my world—her breath a hush, lost between my thighs.
Blond—auburn silk sighs, find a glowing dawn, as one.
I softly hold her pulse—a tremble—a longing to bloom, where silence lies.
Winter’s wet and cold forgotten, our new love, begun.

Together undress dusk, fingers white as steam.
Tight in our arms, wet spent bodies adrift in silence, no past loves, no sound.
Warm breath finds cold lips, fogged glass between their world and our dream.
Our bath still holds our shape, strawberry silk sighs, cosmic bound.

You love
My rolls
And my curves
And my lumps
And my scars
I don't know why
But
You do

You kiss my cheek
And my forehead
And my fingertips
And my lips
I don't know why
But
You do

You desire my mind
And my soul
And my body
I don't know why
But
You do

You hold my hand
And my waist
And my face
And my hips
I don't know why
But
You do

You want me
And need me
And crave me
And yearn for me
I don't know why
But
You do

Your words,
they pulled me like tide on tethered soul
each line a hush,
each verse a look I wasn’t ready to return.

I fought this.
Dodged your warmth like it might burn.
But oh, the fear
that you’d see right through the quiet,
to the hunger I bury under silk and sarcasm.
Desires not made for daylight.

Your poetry
exquisite on page,
sinful in my mind.
How lucky your muse,
to be the wellspring of your art.
How luckier still am I,
to drink from it.

Your hands
a haven.
My head in your lap,
countless times I’ve drifted into the safest sleep.
Fingers laced as you drive,
windows down, world forgotten.

I hate this feeling.
I do.
But I can’t cut it out of me.
I know what this is
and what it isn’t.

So I beg you,
Honey Bee…
let me be.

Because if I come too close,
you’ll sting.
And I’ll break.
Mercy,
on me,
and on this stubborn heart
I can’t take a love
that never starts.

~ hologram

you hologramed
into my bedroom last night,
not the version they see,
but the one I met
in the quiet
between performances.

the no-performance you.
the one who didn’t need
an audience
to be real.

my brain short-circuited
at the sight.
grief glitching into desire.
fury looping into longing.
because I’ve been angry.
at the gods,
at myself,
but mostly
at you.
at the cowardice.
yours.
my own.

not just the cowardice
to surrender,
but to escape.

you called it clean.
you called it kind.
but your silence bled so loud
I tasted the iron
on my own tongue.

you said,
we both know what this is.
we do.
not in the beginning.
but somewhere along
the slow descent,
when we crossed a line
we pretended not to see.

you never named it.
neither did I.
not in my writing,
not in whispers,
not even in the bathwater
where my thoughts go to drown.

because naming it
would mean letting it live.
and if it lives,
what am I supposed to do
with some thing
that can’t?

but not naming it
doesn’t make it vanish.
it just carves itself
into my ribs
without consent.

and still,
I hate myself.
for feeling it.
for feeding it.
and I hate you
so much more
for knowing
and choosing
not to.

and if you ever want to
shatter what’s left,
just say
you’ll always wonder.
because I do.
and I wander
with it.

Our moon slips red—eclipse’s ****** shadow cups her breast.
She lies still, a fawn, beneath my tear-brimmed eyes.
Her breath—dream’s morning dew?—a whispered request?
Light turns slowly, touch between her parted thighs.
She moans a whispered song—arching, “come to me.”

It's your eyes
.. but even more
it's your sleeping body
.. against my chest or my back
it's the very beauty
.. of your desire
.. when you get up
it's your smell
.. that almost isn't there
.. and most of all
it's your hands
.. that take care of me
.. in between making me
.. inconspicuously feel
.. under my clothes
.. that it is true

WARNING: EXPLICIT CONTENT

in crimson breath i draw your image,
ruby rogue, apple temptation.
temptation, yes temptation.
GOD
I want to swallow you whole
and keep you in the pit of my stomach
I want to rip your skin open
and see your true face
I want to fuse my soul with you
even if it stains me red

Dear Rogue, come ****** my heart out
thief that you are, of my innocence
and my days of apathy
Color me, even in blood
For I would rather bear your mark
than remain an empty canvas

Dear Rouge, know you are the apple of my eye,
the source of my passion,
the greatest possession I have known.
Your image lingers,
I cannot resist.

I do not want to resist.

I want to float awash in your torrent.
And lose myself in it.
Cast my visage off like skin,
that we may be naked and kindred in exposure.
And hungry, still.
That we may devour each other.
Consume each other.
Consummate each other.

I want to **** your cherry.
Bad metaphor, I know, but such are the workings of passion.

I want to want.
And I want to want more. To covet.
For you I would sin and burn in elation.

So, R., what would you do for me?

I want you to steal my heart and claw it open till it bleeds a sea of rouge