꧁ i write for myself ꧂

Catholic but also a witch(?)

Message from Writer

Man, I’ve been here since the summertime of ‘17. Ik, I’m way too old for this shit.

•I don’t fuck with any forms of transphobia or homophobia
•don’t follow me or like any of my work if you’re racist or sexist

Thank you

The Muse and her Poetress

November 24, 2020


Come, it is time to paint the glass windows of this Greek Cathedral with our dripping love. Take a brush and pinch a seed out of the womb of a pomegranate, we dye their fine ends in love’s bloody sacrifice. There’s no time to bathe tonight, let the spilt milk say spilt. There’s a grace-hot fire to feed under this dark hour’s waxing moon, and it flares between the white of my ribs. 

Feed it. Feed me. Colour my lips, either set, with your red passion until I drip a fountain of lyrical script. 

“Open wide.” 

You talk in tongues, but I am fluent by now in the way you choose to tie your words. They lace like ribbon behind my eyes, mouthing dream-teary sonnets. I use them, rewrite them - and throughout the ages, I and fate’s future women, hear them; forever and always will they spill out of me and onto naked, grey paper. I will cry our desire into their lust-dry hearts.

Our love...it will be history’s endless fixation.

“Take them, my dove-love, my Sappho. Take the upon thy tongue, sweet and raw; have my nefarious heart beat a song deep into the hallow of your hands.” You hush, and together we are one on this temple floor.

We woman may have been sculpted out of heaven’s ink-swollen clay, but it is you and I, who take this nightly noon captive between our thighs. You, an empress of the arts, and I, a poetress drunk on a concoction of love and lust and worship. We seize each other’s pleasure, each other’s rapture, on stolen Greek twilight.

You hand me a cup, it’s gold-warm and full to the brim with holy drink. 

I do not favour the blood of vine. 

But you have already taken your own cup by the mouth, and tongued it dry. Now, I thirst for only to nurse the messy dribble of wine from off your mouth. And though I do not favour its taste, perhaps I would find it sweeter mixed in the pomegranate slick that stains your plum lips.

“Let me rename you”, I say, one hand resting on the soft, round of your hips. I like way your stretch marks meet my fingertips. Like we, they kiss often, and deep. “Let yourself be my Aphrodite. By my song and hand, let history believe you to be the only and forever, true Aphrodite.” 

“That, my dear, is treason. The ultimate Sin of sins; The upmost criminal act in this era of God. Do you forget we fuck and love - and love and fuck some more, together - in a temple holy and heaven-heavy, like yourself?” 

For a face which is often glossed in the angel’s virtue, you wore the jaws of a wolf around your dirty, true mouth; it has me bidding you and the dying night, a devilish grin. 

“But you are my muse.” I counter, and I know you are blushing, even though the dark beauty of your skin hides it from my sight. “You, yourself, are a Goddess to the Arts. A pioneer - no... A conqueror! The conqueror of this poetress and her eclipsed-heart. And now I bid you, your rightful title of empress; of Goddess; of Aphrodite. Take what is owed to you, O, great, true love of mine.”

And love is what we have, what is born and reborn with each shy touch and rough fuck. You know me, the Simple Sappho, and you see me a great, holy thing. However, I know to the very soft and deep of my core, I am eternally and devastatingly, a victim of the dark arts of romanticism.

I am sick with it. Sick with romance and taken with love. 

By you, for you. 

My romantics stretch only to you, my muse, and to this quill that is forever one with my hand, as you are one with my soul. 

This furore of passion we share, this betrayal of realism we have continue to feed and keep aspark, it will never come to an end. 

We, by my hand, will be everlasting.

To love and be loved, by each other and by history’s soon to be lovers.

To them we will be Sappho, and her great Ode to Aphrodite.

But right now, upon this sacred ground of darling and dear, let us just celebrate a criminal love.

One shared between me and my sweet, forever Muse. 
A continuation, maybe(?), of my short creative, “The Poetress and her Muse”. This was inspired by Roses and her beautiful Peer View. I hope this meets what you had in mind, I was trying to go for a lighter tone but hopefully it’s still a good real! 


See History
  • November 24, 2020 - 6:25pm (Now Viewing)

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  • tas (yellowbrickrd)

    this is so fascinating. the word choice is incredible, sensual and beautiful.

    6 months ago
  • aiyanna

    This is incredibly beautiful. The imagery and overall sensory contained in this piece (not to mention; your vocabulary) are extremely impressive. It honestly is beyond words.

    6 months ago
  • rainydayz

    i feel like i’m in a painting reading this if that makes sense lol

    6 months ago
  • Paisley Blue

    Ahhhh yess I think I forgot to like the last one but this is absolutely stunning. Your language and descriptions transport me back in time. I really love this <33

    6 months ago
  • everythingbagel (the cliffhanger goddess)


    6 months ago
  • Love, Rose

    Awwww this is truly stunning wow ! you are proper amazing damn - why is this so good? its just so beautiful - i cant even, this love it so powerful - i would definitely lay with you all evening if you speak anything like this.

    6 months ago
  • everythingbagel (the cliffhanger goddess)

    The imagery and emotion you stirred up in this piece is just..amazing.

    6 months ago