Author’s Note
This poem is an exploration of devotion, desire, and inheritance—not of blood, but of passion and sacred intimacy. Inspired by the haunting echoes of Sappho’s lyricism, it is a declaration of being untamed, feral, and wholly devoted to the power of love as both pleasure and ritual. It is for anyone who has ever inherited a flame and learned to worship it without fear.
Invocation
I call upon the muses of ink and shadow,
the voices of women who loved without apology.
Guide this poem into the hearts that dare to feel,
and let it awaken the devotion that lives in ruin and reverence.
The Twisted Daughter of Sappho
Poetry by HxNightshade
I was born in the hush between her stanzas,
cut from the crimson silk of her longing—
a hymn dressed in midnight,
with ink-stained lips that learned to pray
by kissing the pulse beneath a woman’s throat.
They say I inherited her hunger—
that slow-burning ache spun in wine-dark velvet,
the way she worshipped with her teeth,
with fingertips that pressed poems
into the hollows of another’s hips.
I do not walk—I unfurl
in gardens overgrown with need,
where every petal blushes
at the way I say her name.
I have tasted sin shaped like softness—
a girl with smoke in her laugh,
who bloomed open like secrets
beneath my ruined hands.
She called me a heretic of the heart,
a nymph with sacrilege in my smile.
But I only ever offered
what Sappho once swore holy:
devotion that burned
like candle wax on bare skin.
There are nights I write oaths on mirrors—
not in ink, but fog and want.
Nights when my thighs remember
every syllable she moaned,
and I call it worship
because it was.
And if I am twisted—
let it be like a vine
wrapped tight around her ribs,
a tether of thorn and pleasure,
sacred in its ruin.
Because love, when spoken from my tongue,
is not a sin.
It is a spell.
A vow.
A resurrection.
And I—I am not her shame,
but her successor.
Her shadow-slick daughter,
reverent in ruin,
feral in fidelity.
Benediction
May the words linger like fire on skin,
may the devotion they carry reach those who seek it,
and may the shadow of Sappho’s daughters walk with you,
feral, faithful, and unashamed.
Poetic Lineage
The Daughter of Plath | Rowan Evans
In The Daughter of Plath, Rowan Evans writes as the heir to a ghost—cradling grief not her own, baptized in bell jars, and building a cathedral from ash. This is a confession, a prayer, and a refusal to let the ache fall silent.
The Daughter of Dickinson | Roo the Poet
Step into the quiet rebellion of Roo the Poet, a lyrical homage to Emily Dickinson. The Daughter of Dickinson traces wonder, whimsy, and secret power, revealing poetry as both magic and manifesto.
If you want to explore more of my work beyond these pieces, you can find the full archive in The Library of Ashes.
Poetry by Rowan Evans 