There’s a place between your words
where the dark begins to purr—
a narrow, wicked doorway
you leave cracked open
just for me.
You never say “come closer,”
but the silence aches with it,
pulling like a hand
sliding slowly
inside my pulse.
I should turn away.
I know this.
Your kind of longing
has teeth.
It leaves marks
that don’t always show.
But the tension between us
is a living thing,
rising, tightening,
breathing heat
into the spaces
my caution cannot fill.
Your gaze touches me
like a dare—
slow, deliberate,
danger dressed as desire.
And I feel myself tipping
towards the place
where fear becomes flavour,
and pleasure wears a mask
I want to kiss.
If I cross that threshold,
I won’t return unchanged.
You know this.
You want this.
And still you wait—
half in shadow,
half in promise,
inviting me
to step into the dark
and call it love.
If I dare.
