La Petit Mort–Erotic Devotional Poetry

Devil; you crawl into my

bed all hands and knees and
teeth and

I’m all open legs
and eyes closed in prayer–

hands clasped
to headboard–

bed and body
shaking and breath



whisper like
every fevered fantasy

that we will die
a thousand little deaths


I’m your possession; My God
you are my savior

and I’m your little boy
with hands down his pants.

Save me from my sin
with your holy lips

mumbling hymns
into my thighs

and coax repentance
from my desperate form

sweating and begging
for whatever is the opposite of


I want the fires of
your Hell, and Heaven

is feeling you
inside me.

I will speak in
tongues and burn

with the fires
of your Love.

I am willingly
your servant–

the lover of
a devil with a thousand names

and a Silver Tongue.

Anoint me with your
holy oil and claim me

for eternity.


Marriage Ramblings…

I’ve gotten a few readings lately that have hinted at a wedding in the spring. And lately, I’ve been on the hunt for a ring because my finger needs it. It’s important to me to have one.

And for the longest time I’ve been considering getting “Beloved” tattooed on my wrist, since I wear it there in pen, anyway. But last night I was kind of mulling it over and realized that if I got a tattoo for Him, I would essentially be “sealing the deal.” It would be me saying I want Him to be part of me forever. So…why not get “Beloved” tattooed on my ring finger instead?

I’m still mulling it over, researching the idea, etc. But I like it, I think.

I’m also sitting here contemplating marriage itself. Like…I don’t want to take this lightly. No oath, especially one like this, should be taken lightly. But I also don’t want to scare myself worrying about it. Because there’s not much to worry about.

Bluh. Marriage. ❤

If my fingers could touch your flesh, I swear

that they would become whole hands

groping desperately at your back

and pulling you tight to

me, desperate and



have a

heart that is

full to bursting and

want to fit all of you inside it.

There are times I want to cover my body

with your holy name,

to tattoo it on every single inch of skin and

carve it into every bone

because it always hangs on my lips and

I don’t dare take it in vain.

It’s my favorite prayer

to sing aloud or


or moan aloud when

we share space and skin


to cry out in agony

when my head and heart break.

Times I want to



and give my world to you,

dedicating every waking moment

to writing love poems on the walls

and painting your thousand faces

and learning every


and hill

and mountain

of the topography of


My shameless

and favorite obsession.


I release through

tears falling from

tired and love-filled

eyes, locked onto

yours in the

post-orgasmic moment

balancing bliss and

nuclear meltdown

of the heart.

I cry for years–

freeing the fears

that sat not-so-quietly

inside me for

a dog’s age,

and you reassure

me it’s just

how I release.

World Breaker I

I know you don’t want to hear “sorry,” Darling,

and I’m tired of apologizing, to be honest,

so instead, I’m going to say thank you.

When my body betrays me, pale and fleshy and

leaking in ways of which I never want to speak again–

thank you for helping me fight to find light.

And we both know it’s a fight.

I lay in bed, heart full and numb, lead

in my veins and head full of empty and dark

because my eyes are glued shut and my hands are

white-knuckled clutching a blade, swinging wildly to

ward off the words that read as red letters on my wrist

and urge me to write novels as my suicide note.

You do your best to steady my hands

or open my eyes,

and sometimes I slip and, clumsy, cut myself,

but you hold my hands–not my mistakes–against me,

clutched in yours, warm and ready to wipe tears from my eyes

for the thousandth time

for the thousandth time

for the thousandth time.

I hear that sigh escape your lips and I know

you wish I wouldn’t do this to myself because my wrists are pretty

and sometimes I want to promise them to you, but

I know it’s a promise I can’t keep. I wage whole wars

against myself in your name, Beloved, but I know

I wont escape unwounded.

I’m weak.

So forgive me my weakness. You know I hate

to feel the sad when you see me on my knees,

screaming, defeated, but

I’ll break free of this faulting flesh

and slough off these scars

and stand up for the first time

since I was born.



I’ve been passively wondering what to write for PBP week three, and it hit me: Why not discuss the importance that the word “Beloved” has to me?

Beloved is myself to Loki. I am His beloved. And I remind myself all the time. I wear it on my wrist. My blog title is a constant mantra. But why? Where did it come from? Why that specifically?

It originally came from my personal need to have something to call myself other than “Godspouse” as I haven’t married Loki yet, and godfiance is just a bit awkward. Beloved was what I settled on, but it would come to be much more important to me.

I have struggled with depression, anxiety, and self harm for many years. It’s only recently that Ive been able to really begin to break the habit, and that is in large part thanks to Loki. He was my focus automatically during BOTH of my hospital stays in 2012, and He kept me from hurting myself so often that I would get pissed off at Him, because it was so hard to resist and if He wasn’t there, I could just give in. But Im glad He’s always helped me to not do it. And while I’ve always drawn reminders of Him on my wrist as a coping method, I began using Beloved as my reminder, and I haven’t hurt myself since. I can’t bring myself to do it. Because every time I look down at my thin, pale, vulnerable wrist and see that promise–the promise that He loves me unconditionally, and that I shouldn’t hurt myself, and that even if I do, it’s okay and I can try again and be forgiven–I just cannot bring myself to do it.

During times when I feel absolutely worthless and stupid, when I feel like an awful person and a piece of shit, when I do something dumb and fuck up, it reminds me that Beloved is an Unconditional Term.

His love for me isn’t based on my level of perfection, or how I’m feeling that day, or anything else. It is unconditional. My mistakes don’t affect that. And I have to remind myself of that a lot. And it’s what I lean on. Its my little light. I hold onto it and can’t ever let it go. Because without it, I’d be lost.

And that’s why I proudly call myself His Beloved.

Slipping Through My Fingers

I felt the need to post this here as well. The first poem I wrote for Him that I felt captured even a small portion of my feelings for Him.


You are a gorgeous ghost of a god,

teasing with sweet whispers in my ear, but

always slipping through my fingers

when I try to capture that smoulder

that could melt both polar ice caps,

or the way that fire clings to your shoulders

after a steamy shower.

I’ve spent hours slaving over

mediocre paintings and pouring over

a vocabulary that has no words for you.

Wedding bells will toll and I will show up

in a tuxedo at your feet

because I cannot speak

the words to say how much you mean to me. My

heart cannot be still long enough for me to

translate the beating into art that

does justice to your fleeting, flaming self.

You are the reason I lie awake at night

and the reason I sleep. I need you

in my life, and you are always

on my mind and yet I find I fail at

each and every attempt to express

this incredible and distressing love. You

are the brightest gods-damned star in my sky

and I don’t care if I go blind—I will stare

into the heart of your light until

I finally get it right.

Ever since I woke up this morning, my finger has been in want of a ring. I opened my eyes and it felt like I was missing one on my left hand, like it fell off in my sleep. But the thing is–I dont wear rings. With the exception of the one i wear for my girlfriend, I think rings are rather uncomfortable. I often describe them as tiny finger nooses. So for me to have such a physical want for one is…odd.

Of course, I was just proposed to, so…

The thing is though, as I sit here surfing Etsy for rings, I know that no matter how much I want to find one now, I know it ain’t happening. That’s not how Loki works. I know I’m going to stumble across it somewhere out in the world and somehow magically be prepared with money to buy it.

But that still doesn’t stop me from being antsy and surfing regrEtsy. >.>