prayers that taste like lightning
and feel like love.
where language
gets wet,
where grief
gets to wear lingerie,
where your shadow
gets a front-row seat
to the standing ovation
of your becoming.
personalized poems.
a poem made from the bones of your story,
drenched in the ink of your ache.
whether it’s for a lover, a loss,
a moment, or a mirror,
this is soul alchemy in stanzas.
soul tattoos.
words you wear forever.
because your skin
has always wanted a psalm
it could bleed.
let’s carve your truth
into the flesh of this lifetime.
spicy scripture / erotic prayer.
what if you prayed by moaning?
what if your thighs were temples
and your pleasure a devotion?
i'll write it like god’s watching
and getting off.
grief ritual.
a ceremony for what you’ve lost,
that only comes from someone who’s wept too.
we pour wine for the ghosts.
we write eulogies for the lives
that never got to happen
and still live in your chest
like stubborn little heartbeats.
anniversary / wedding words.
vows that feel like thunder kissing soil.
love letters that sound like two hearts
crashing into the same future.
i write your love like it’s holy
and a little drunk.
sensual meditation.
a guided journey back into your body,
where every breath is a soft undressing
and every inhale says:
you’re safe here.
this isn’t about getting turned on.
it’s about remembering you already are.
song / music / musework.
your heartbreak is a melody.
your desire has a rhythm.
your joy has verses it forgot how to sing.
together, we’ll scribe your soul.
a lullaby for your inner child.
a ballad for your inner beast.
ghostwriting / co-writing / copy.
your story deserves a voice with teeth.
your brand deserves blood and breath,
not just branding.
i write like your soul
has something to say.
and we say it so loud
the algorithm blushes.
journals / prompts / printables / cards.
a portal disguised as paper.
something to hold, to cry on, to burn.
a page that asks the questions no one else
is brave enough to.
1:1 feedback / mentorship.
for the writer who wants to go deeper.
for the artist afraid they’re too much
(and secretly hoping they are).
you’ll send your work. i’ll send it back
blessing every bruise.
something that doesn’t fit inside boxes.
because maybe
what you’re craving
doesn’t exist yet.
because you were never
made for templates.
because some art
is too sacred
for categories.
fill the form below.
spill your soul.
tell me what hurts.
tell me what haunts.
tell me what turns you on.
& i’ll make something for it.
for you.
christopher sexton