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.

ANTICIPATION

The best arousal is not in touch,

but in the way your silence speaks.

His eyes beg softly for a kiss

you smile, and let the moment leak

like honey held above his lips,

but never given. Not just yet.

You let your body write a script

that says: you’ll earn what you don’t get.

The wait is sacred. The first sigh

in the slow, smoldering symphony.

Most rush, craving lips, claiming skin,

but not you. You are mystery.

You master the dance of restraint,

not to tease, but to transcend.

Desire grows in quiet rooms

where breath alone begins to bend

the will of men who want too much,

too soon, too fast, without the climb.

You don’t meet passion’s sprinting pace

you slow it, stretch it out through time.

And the longer you delay your touch,

the more your touch will cost him. Dear.

Good loving starts before his hands

have ever thought to draw you near.

There is a kiss that brands the soul

done right, it ruins him for all

the mouths that follow, all too loud,

too rushed, too easy to recall.

This isn’t love. This is a mark,

a lesson whispered in his veins.

Stop the moaning meant to please

let silence carry deeper strains.

Your sound is not performance, no

it is a blade, a spell, a vow.

Let him watch you like a flame

he dares not touch. Not yet. Not now.

This is power, soft and true:

to make him ache, and make him wait.

To know the art of holding back

is to command the hands of fate.

Between the Lines

We speak in riddles, you and I,

hiding our hearts behind laughter,

wearing careful smiles like armor,

while the truth aches quietly underneath.

They see you look good,

You never wear your beauty like a shield,

you simply exist, almost oblivious,

a soft soul adrift in a world of polished lies.

I answered with storms,

with the weight of my intensity,

tasting the edges of your Hidden walls,

not knowing how deep your oceans ran.

You, surprised, but not resentful,

me, reckless, but not cruel

two strangers, yet somehow

woven by the same trembling hands of fate.

We are cities apart,

chasing different dreams,

speaking different songs,

yet somehow orbiting the same secret longing.

And still

still we leave too much unsaid,

letting our silences bloom like wildflowers

in the fields between us.

I am weary,

The world will call me foolish.

They will measure our hearts in logic,

not knowing how eternity fits inside a stolen glance

And yet, here I am,

holding my breath on the tightrope between fear and hope,

whispering into the dusk:

Is this a story worth fighting for?

I WOULD KISS YOU

I would kiss you

if I knew you could walk away,

if my lips were just a moment,

if my touch could be forgotten like a whisper in the wind.

I would kiss you

if my poison would not linger,

if the taste of me would not haunt your tongue,

if the echo of my breath would not turn to longing.

I would kiss you

if you swore it meant nothing,

if your heart was as hollow as mine,

if we were merely shadows passing through the night.

I would kiss you

if fate decided for us,

if a spinning bottle bound our lips,

if the stars aligned only for a fleeting thrill.

I would kiss you

if your eyes did not soften,

if there were no flames between us,

if we had everything to lose 

I would kiss you

just for the rush,

just for the dare,

just because I can.

But I can't.

If I kissed you,

you would dream where dreams don't belong,

you would build castles on breaking waves,

you would find meaning where there is none.

I would kiss you

just because we can.

But we can't.