There is a silence in you,
Not empty—echoing.
Like the hush before a thunderstorm
The wind stills
And the trees listen.

I see it in the way you move—
Too careful. Too contained.
A choreography of caution
That hides the wildness beneath.

There’s a secret you won’t name,
Not even in the dark.
A want so deep it coils in your belly,

Sleepless and waiting.
Not for anyone—
But for someone who won’t flinch
When it rises.

You don’t want to be saved.
You want to be seen.
To be opened like a forbidden book,
And read by hands that understand
Each page was written in whispers
You weren’t allowed to speak.

There’s a part of you that dreams
Of giving in—
Of a voice low in your ear
Telling you to hold still,
To breathe,
As fingers trace every edge
You’ve kept hidden behind pleasantries.

I would not fear your dark.
I would not tame your ache.
I would learn the language of your skin,
Your silence,
Your stuttering gasps
As if they were scripture.

Let me see the you behind the smile—
The one who wants to be ruined slowly,
Held tightly,
And told:
"There is nothing wrong with how deeply you feel."

I want the part of you
that begs quietly into the night,
That presses trembling thighs together
At the thought of surrender.
I want the part you call shame
When it’s really your body
Pleading to be worshipped
Without apology.

Say nothing, if you must.
I’ll hear it in your stillness.
In the breath you hold when our eyes meet.
In the flood that comes
When someone finally knows
Where to touch the truth in you.