I'm a woman who feels too much-and writes because of it.
Every glance, every silence, every touch leaves a bruise or a bloom on me. I carry desire like a fever under the skin, and I've learned to turn ache into art. I write eroticism not just for pleasure, but because the body speaks in poetry when the mouth forgets how. Lust, longing, heartbreak, obsession-they all live in my fingertips.
I don't believe in casual anything. If I kiss you, I'll write about it. If I crave you, you'll feel it on the page. My words are my confessions, my revenge, my worship.
I don't just write sex-I write the emotional violence of wanting, the sacredness of surrender, the ruin and resurrection found in skin pressed to skin. I write because I feel too much. And because feeling too much has always been my favorite sin.