TRACES OF ME

 He came to me

like men do,

charming, sure,

but with eyes that didn’t know

how to kneel.

He thought love was polite,

something served with flowers

and hesitation.

But I don’t bloom for men

who need permission

to crave.

I didn’t ask.

I took.

I gave him rules,

not for cruelty,

but for clarity.

Because some hearts

don’t beat

until they’re bound.

He wanted to save me,

but I was never lost.

I’ve walked through my own fire,

and now I light it

for the ones who can stand the heat.

He trembled,

but he stayed.

Let me teach him

how surrender

isn’t weakness

when it’s given, not taken.

In my world,

love has weight.

And I carried him

on the edge of pain and pleasure

until he finally understood:

devotion doesn’t beg,

it offers.

I traced every inch of him

like a map

to a country

that once feared being seen.

He asked why I chose him.

I didn’t.

He earned me

with every soft confession,

every scar he let me kiss

without hiding.

In the silence of rope and silk,

he learned how loud love can be.

And no

I never bent for him.

But he rose for me.

Again and again.

Stronger.

Wilder.

Freer.

He is mine.

Not by leash,

but by choice.

All shades of him,

and not one I feared.

Because in the end,

it was my hands

that taught him how to feel.