You arch your brow
like a flame in flicker,
challenging gravity with every breath.
That smirk—electric.
Bratty.
And I?
I lean closer, not to tame you,
but to see what burns beneath.

You ask for more—
“Would you dare?” your eyes say,
pulling gravity out of orbit.
I like that.
Oh, I like that.

You offer nothing but boundaries undone,
edge of danger,
whispering:
What are you gonna do…make me?

So I fan the embers,
ignite the dare into a blaze—
wordless, yes, but loaded with heat.

I don’t “make” you—
I invite you to claim your fire.
I challenge you to sculpt your own flame,
to speak your yes
with teeth and desire.

Your bratty defiance?
It’s a bolt of lightning breaking night.
I catch it,
let it arc across my palms,
watch it scorch the expectations
we both buried too soon.

Here: want me harder—
ask me in the hush between pulses.
I’ll answer—not with control,
but with the reflection of your own flame.
I am heat and permission both.

So say it again—
“Make me.”
I’ll meet you there,
in the spark you lit,
with a fire that mirrors your boldness,
unfurling into surrender.