DRAWN TO YOU

I saw you and got nervous,

A strange and sudden thrill.

I’m not the type to stumble,

But something in me stood still.

You spoke with that calm confidence,

Like years hadn't passed by since we last spoke,

The kind of charm that isn’t loud,

But somehow pulls you near.

I don’t fall for charisma,

Or smiles that light a room

But with you, the air felt different,

Like spring inside a monsoon.

Our conversations dance and wander,

They feel both light and deep,

You make it easy to open up,

Then leave me more vulnerable.

Because I don’t know what’s special

Is it me, or just your way?

Do you talk like this with everyone,

Or did we find a rare doorway?

You always leave me giggling,

A soft, unguarded high,

But I wonder if the laughter will stay,

When my mind reminds me to be guarded.

You draw people in like rivers do,

Strong, steady, never rushed,

And I’m swept into your current,

Even though I don’t give in much.

I’ve learned to question men of power,

To see beneath the gleam,

But you blur the line between,

Am I way over my head?

So I teeter on this edge of maybe,

Not sure what to pursue,

Do I let my heart keep wandering?

Or let logic pull me through?

RESTRAINT

I know the chains that hold us

aren’t meant to hurt

they keep us close.

They keep us wanting.

I could let go completely.

But what would that do to you?

To have you is to lose you.

To have me means I slip away.

our soft, secret word.

The one that saves us

from going too far.

The one that says:

I want you, but not all of you

Tie me down because

I want to kiss you,

hard, deep,

but not deep enough to leave a bruise.

I want you to feel me

But take away the temptation to scratch you,

You need to look untouched.

I know that.

So how do I bite you

without leaving my taste behind?

How do I touch you

without making you mine?

We see the world outside,

just barely, thin glass,

a breath away.

But we stay in here,

where the night holds our secrets.

And before we go too far,

before want becomes need

we pause. We pull back.

Restraint.

It’s not a no.

It’s a slow yes.

A promise

that we could go there

but we can't so we won’t.

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.