Disclaimer: Mom, Dad, Di, Pastor, I have absolutely no idea what I’m writing about. I solemnly swear this is all too much reading. 😐

Rated: M  (Trigger warnings apply for sexual themes.)

Prayers to the Holy Father rise up, swift, and gentle, swaying, pleading on behalf of my thoughts, and my tongue, in advance; And although they rise above my head fervently…are inked in prayer booklet like the stories I write…more urgent is my desire to possess you;

Possess you…

I want to possess you, sink into your skin, burn your lips with a heat that is both pleasure, and pain, beginning, and end, until you whisper the name of God, sing His praises wholly, and certainly because all at once The Universe has unfolded before you, and I have gifted it to you–star, and moon, and rising sun–bitten glory into the surface of your skin where it spreads: fierce, bright, red, glowing–flushing your neck, and chest, and arms, glazing you like fire at the birthplace of fine china, and colourful, unbroken glass;

Unzip me: unzip the mask that holds me, and savour; Savour the revelation of loss, and gain; Touch: touch until it is not you, but I, who inhabits you; until it is not your breaths, but mine, that kiss you from the inside out–unwind you, unravel the taste that is your mouth, the heat that is your blood, spilling over, pulsing, spreading between us, consuming us both, as we twain, seek our escape;

Surrender. Do not make me beg. Do not steal prayers from me that are meant to ghost your skin.

Surrender. Surrender to the whisper of your hair against my neck; the weighted, easy pressure of your fingers pressed into the dip of my back, uneven curve of my spine–

Sink. Fall breathless against my breast; let the moisture of your exhausted exhalations bead my…

Sink. Do not request that our demons be exorcised. Forget them; forget them with the grip of my fingers in your hair; forget them with the first taste, the third taste, the last taste, the impression of teeth against skin.


K.N.O.W. Tuesday, July 5 thru Wednesday, July 6, 2016. 22:30 hrs to 00:39 hours.

Author’s note: I blushed the whole, damn way through this.


The ancient tread of footprints linger mockingly,

in musing reminder of a day like today;

sharing date and thought,

And yet I waver.

And so for now the storm passes,

I stand sure again.

For a while?


It is the uncertainty that destroys us;

That, and the weighted silence.

And so today, the shadows of the circuitous treads remain ignored.

Year three unspoken of,

But noted.

Kadeen Nichelle Oksana Waldron

Sunday, February 2, 2014. 13.28 hrs