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.


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.


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.