Shop Mobile More Submit  Join Login
About Varied / Hobbyist Adrien Valjean20/Male/United States Recent Activity
Deviant for 2 Years
Needs Core Membership
Statistics 41 Deviations 15 Comments 704 Pageviews
×

Newest Deviations

Literature
1988
I first meet him in a nursery, his arms covered to the elbows in potting soil, sweat gleaming off of his skin.
It was I who speaks first- compelled by the muscles of his shoulders working under his skin. He stands to talk.
At first, he doesn't seem like he is interested in other men. He is introspective, shy, unpolitical. His stance is neutral and his eyes are hazel, kind. He is holding a tiny cactus that he was in the middle of arranging into a rather large display of desert plants. There's a smudge of dirt on his cheek. His vowels have a roundness to them that hints that he is from the south. But his voice doesn't hiss or quiver at any telling moments. The only rag in his pocket is used to wipe the dirt from his hands.
But he looms over me like the boyhood fantasy that came far too late to me. He smells of old wood, greenery, the earth. His teeth are dark and neat, his smile, tentative. His knees rattle when he stands and there is a sound like the clattering of rocks in one's pocket.
:iconmybaehugh:mybaehugh
:iconmybaehugh:mybaehugh 0 0
Literature
Lush Life
He doesn’t let me come over to his house. Manhattan high rise, spacious, with a view of the park. He always says “let’s do it at yours” in that voice with those eyes that burn me alive. I comply because he makes love so sweetly and his lips are always at my neck like the first time, like there is no ring on his finger. When we are finished, my fingers curl around his index and middle fingers. Warm metal brushes up against my knuckle. His touch destroys everything and he still takes my breath away. I think about how the bed would like in his high rise (probably soft, turned down, smelling of him) but then he is kissing me, through the door, gone. I wonder what his wife has cooked for dinner tonight.
:iconmybaehugh:mybaehugh
:iconmybaehugh:mybaehugh 0 0
Literature
VI.
Tes yeux chiffonnent et tes dents droites surgent doucement
comme des roches de la mer dès la marée des vagues.
Je ne me sens plus malade, mais je suis poussé dans l’oubli
de laquelle souvent mes pensées hurlent.
Mais des voix sont tranquilles quand tu me donnes ton regard.
Je me sens engourdi et tu pacifies mon ciel détruit par une guerre privée
avec les boucles de tes cheveux, l’angle curieux de ton nez
et le plateau de ta mâchoire.
Je suis heureux de mourir comme ceci, je le crois, -
Même si c’est une fièvre chaude d’une hallucination délicieuse,
nous roulons dans l’herbe, les pétales nacrés
des lis attrapés dans tes cheveux,
ta bouche profonde et mouillée, avec un goût d’un fleuve.
Remplis-moi avec la miséricorde d’un saint et la râpe gentille
des doigts rugueux. Ô, nous sommes tachés par l’herbe et nous haletons
en gémissant avec l
:iconmybaehugh:mybaehugh
:iconmybaehugh:mybaehugh 1 0
Literature
Persephone
I was broken by you; clean shaven, standing there behind the garden gate in your braces and shirtsleeves. Your mouth parted as you hid shyly among the thick flora that bloomed as a soft spring in your irises. My vision was flooded by pink and at the crook of your neck there was a scent of saffron. There was a moth in your thick, silvery hair as your hand met mine through the bars of cold, prison-like iron. Somewhere I could hear that a fountain trickled. When our lips met, I wanted to suck on your fingernails like pomegranate seeds as though three months of torment in Acheron were worth a single moment tangled in you through a garden gate.
:iconmybaehugh:mybaehugh
:iconmybaehugh:mybaehugh 1 0
Literature
Le Voyeur
The receiver is pressed to my ear as
my mind wanders.
He runs a hand through his greying hair.
Sweat pools in the dip of his clavicle
and his eyes ask questions
without answers
from under thick lashes that tangle
together like lovers.
His teeth are dark but beautiful
and I kiss him on the mouth anyway.
I blink and he is gone.
But his voice is clear and deep in my ear.
"Hello? Are you still there?" He asks.
My brain hums softly inside of my skull,
radiating warmth until
I hear the TV in the background,
the rustling of paper,
the startling laugh of a woman,
and a slight, delicious intake of breath
from lips I imagined to be soft and pliant.
My mind glazes over.
There are tears in my eyes.
I hang up the phone
and I clean the shame from my guilty fingers.
:iconmybaehugh:mybaehugh
:iconmybaehugh:mybaehugh 1 0
Literature
The prisoner (ENG)
I breathe last night’s dust like cocaine.
I am drunk on you,
on the lustres of gold in your hazel eyes,
on the softness of the springtime flower petals
in your hair, on the traces of an ancient
lullaby in your voice. Kiss me warmly,
and I will steal you into the night, our eyes
broken fragments of the moon. Dream of
me in your sporadic fever-dream and tell
me you love me against my dead lips.
:iconmybaehugh:mybaehugh
:iconmybaehugh:mybaehugh 4 3
Sketchdump 2 by mybaehugh Sketchdump 2 :iconmybaehugh:mybaehugh 0 0 Sketch dump 1 by mybaehugh Sketch dump 1 :iconmybaehugh:mybaehugh 1 0
Literature
V.
His astral presence
never fails to floor me,
tongue in my ear
when I am trying to think.
He consumes everything
green coattails dragging behind him
and don’t dare say his name,
he will turn around,
like the sun turning its
face towards the earth,
and you will fall in love with
the stars in his eyes and the
cosmos in his throat.
:iconmybaehugh:mybaehugh
:iconmybaehugh:mybaehugh 1 0
Literature
IV.
he is the seafarer in his
soul but a siren relaxes on the rocky
peaks of his gaze.
she leans over to whisper in my
ear, through the sweet sounds of crashing
waves. her sweet note embraces
me, hotly. the candle in our
room does not flicker.
She beckons me closer with an ancient
hymn, opening her
legs and I cannot help but stare at the
vein that travels down his thick
arm. a great wave roars in the
distance and I cannot bear the
look in his eyes any longer. there is a great
wave over me and I want to make love to the
turmoil.
:iconmybaehugh:mybaehugh
:iconmybaehugh:mybaehugh 0 2
Lui by mybaehugh Lui :iconmybaehugh:mybaehugh 2 0
Literature
I give up
Gift me with your stare,
hazel and warm,
reminiscent of memory, that languid summer
and the scent of watercress
as I stared out of my window at night.
I would steal the flecks of gold
from the forest of your irises,
I would pin them to my ceiling
and maybe they would glow for me as do the stars.
:iconmybaehugh:mybaehugh
:iconmybaehugh:mybaehugh 4 0
Drawing exercises by mybaehugh Drawing exercises :iconmybaehugh:mybaehugh 0 0
Literature
Le Prisonnier
Je respire la poussière d'hier
comme de la cocaïne.
Je suis ivre de toi, les lustres d'or
dans tes yeux marron et clairs,
la douceur des feuilles des fleurs
du printemps dans tes cheveux,
une chanson comme une ancienne berceuse
dans tes mots.
Embrasse-moi chaudement
et je vais te voler, partageons
la nuit, nos yeux comme des morceaux fracturés
de la lune. Rêve de moi dans ta fièvre
sporadique et dites-moi que tu m'aimeras
toujours contre mes lèvres mortes.
:iconmybaehugh:mybaehugh
:iconmybaehugh:mybaehugh 0 0
Literature
La Priere
Je rêve d'un certain cercle
D'enfer.
Tu es à la fois juge et jury
Et moi,
Je m'agenouille devant toi
Et je mendie, je mendie
Pour la punition,
Je prie pour tu me fouetter
Sur la dos.
C'est mon purgatoire.
:iconmybaehugh:mybaehugh
:iconmybaehugh:mybaehugh 0 1
Literature
Je te tire, je te tire
Je te tire, je te tire,
Il doit être douloureux
Mais mon cœur est surgelé
Sous une rivière et mon cerveau
Est perdu dans une forêt noire.
Il est aussi douloureux
Et quand j'hurle dans la nuit pour tes lèvres
Et j'étouffe sur du sang
Je ne me sens plus si mal.
:iconmybaehugh:mybaehugh
:iconmybaehugh:mybaehugh 0 0

Friends

:iconlimerry: :iconlittleblueraccoon: :iconrompopita: :iconmadam--guillotine: :iconaleksi--briclot: :iconcarnivoroustwinkie: :iconsinlaire: :iconmadmoro: :icondigitalmasochism: :iconrwharrison: :iconxiiidc: :iconsunshinegladiator: :iconfelixfellow:

Groups

deviantID

mybaehugh's Profile Picture
mybaehugh
Adrien Valjean
Artist | Hobbyist | Varied
United States
I'm Adrien. I'm a bilingual artist currently living in Kalamazoo. I love art history and reading when I get the time.
I'm trans and gay. I like to write/draw from that perspective, so men are often featured in my works. :)
My last name is weird. I chose it. No, I am not related to a fictional character.
I post when I get new ideas. If you decide to follow me, thanks a bunch.

Transgender Pride Flag Stamp by SavvyRed gay stamp by tiny-dragonite Achillean stamp by SnoodSpirit French language level EXPERT by TheFlagandAnthemGuy
Interests

Comments


Add a Comment:
 
:iconcarlosstappev:
CarlosStappev Featured By Owner Apr 23, 2017  New Deviant
Merci à nouveau :hug:
Reply
:iconmybaehugh:
mybaehugh Featured By Owner Apr 24, 2017  Hobbyist General Artist
De rien 😃
Reply
:iconcarlosstappev:
CarlosStappev Featured By Owner Apr 22, 2017  New Deviant
:icontnxfav1::icontnxfav2::icontnxfav3:
Reply
:iconmadam--guillotine:
madam--guillotine Featured By Owner Apr 2, 2017  Hobbyist Writer
:happybounce: +fav 
Reply
:iconshining-scribe:
Shining-Scribe Featured By Owner Jan 19, 2017  Hobbyist Writer
Greetings! Welcome to :iconpoetic-poetry:, and thank you for choosing to join us. I hope our group will give you a chance to meet many other writers, enjoy many new styles and, most importantly, blossom and flourish as both a writer and a member of DA. :) (Smile)
Reply
Add a Comment: