p o e t r y

in the writing moment.

whispers of the ether trickle through the cracks in the parchment one drip at a time fell upon your knuckles as you wrote and the whole time, you could feel your magick flow.


dressed in her favourite outfit of nothing,she waits patiently, for the command word to be given: Stop. Go. Come.

the shape of your hands

gripped around warmth and song, caressing sharp teethand kissing bloodied lips. no screaming, just silence set against the crashing waves on an unexplored shoreline, breaking and sliding back with contentment. reminders embodied in stainless steel and gemwork tossing and turning on the thought of filling your hands and emptying herself. a grasp that never slips,Continue reading “the shape of your hands”

friendly fire.

  save a penny  earn a pence,  we harken back to  the way we were  behind dark shades          don’t play with fire,  friends

pride and shorelines.

she sells seashells by the seashore   but I peddle pride from my front door.and when they come to try me,   as they always do,they’ll find only magic   and her demon breaking through. Author’s note. This is one of my all-time favourite pieces that I’ve ever written.Originally penned Jan. 3, 2019.


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