If I wrote this simple poem specifically for you…
Would you take the time to read it all the way through?

Would you let it linger just long enough
To slip past your surface,
Past your practiced calm—
Into that quieter place you don’t let many reach?

And if you did,
Not just with your eyes,
But with that soft, secret part of you
That aches to be recognized,
Could you feel how easily the words begin to move inside you?

Not to impress you.
Not to claim you.
But to open something
That’s already been asking to be touched.

If each line touched you like lips that never quite kiss—
If they hovered at the edge of your breath,
Just close enough to make your skin hum—
Would you lean in?

And if I didn’t give you what you thought you wanted—
If I let the hunger bloom instead of feeding it—
Would you notice how the ache becomes sacred?

Would you feel how the not-quite
Is sometimes more powerful than the too-much?

If I traced you in images—
Not with hands,
But with rain sliding down your spine,
Pooling in the hollows you never show—
Would you remember how water makes you feel?

The way it lingers…
The way it runs down,
The way it leaves you wanting to be touched
Everywhere and nowhere at once?

And if I left you there, half-drenched, half-waiting—
Would you crave the storm
More than the calm?

Not because it takes from you.
But because it wakes something in you.
Something wild.
Something ready.

If my words pulled you upward—
Tightening your chest,
Drawing breath lower,
Deeper,
Wider than you’re used to—
Would you feel how you’ve already begun to open?

And if I softened just then—
Letting the rhythm fade into hush,
A whisper behind your ear—
Would you surrender?

Not out of weakness.
But because you feel safe enough to fall.
Because you know I’d catch you.
Not to hold you down—
But to lift you into yourself.

And the more you feel that,
The more you realize
You haven’t disappeared.
You’ve become more visible.
More honest.
More you.

If I reminded you of the secret places no one speaks of—
Not just between your thighs,
But in the silent spaces between who you are
And who you were told to be—
Would you feel the slow, steady heat rise?

Would you feel that old ache—
The one you barely admit is still there—
Return not as pain,
But as possibility?

And if I never named those places,
Only circled them—
Reverent, patient, unhurried—
Would your imagination fill in the rest?

Because you don’t need direction.
You’ve always known the way.
You were just waiting for someone
Who didn’t flinch when you opened.

If I pressed harder now—
Not onto your skin,
But onto that longing you keep beneath the surface—
Would you admit how long you’ve been waiting?

Not just tonight.
Not just now.
But in the places even you rarely look?

Would you admit that some part of you
Has always wanted to be chosen?

Not because you tried harder.
Not because you looked the part.
But because you were recognized.

Seen.
Known.
Called to.

If I drew back again—
Not to tease,
But to let the ache stretch—
Would you feel how far the wanting goes now?
Not just surface,
But roots.
In you.
Real.

If I told you this poem was not written with ink—
But with the pulse of my own desire for you—
Would you feel it burning into you,
A heat you can neither deny nor escape?

And if I told you
You don’t need to say it—
That I already feel what you’re asking for—
That thing you don’t speak aloud…
Would you let me give it to you?

Not because you asked.
But because I know.

Because I’ve felt it moving through you
Since the very first line.

If the rhythm of these lines became your rhythm—
If your breath matched mine—
Would you feel how close we already are?

Not in time.
Not in space.
But in rhythm.
In resonance.

And the deeper you go,
The more you realize
You’re not just being seduced.

You’re being remembered.

You’re not being tamed.
You’re being welcomed back to yourself.

You haven’t moved.
But everything has shifted.

Because now,
You’re not just reading.
You’re becoming.

And if I whispered…
That I’ve seen you—
Not the mask.
Not the polish.
But the wild, radiant, beautiful wreck of a woman beneath it all—
Would you believe me?

Would you let me come closer?

Would you stop holding your breath
And let yourself be his?

Not possessed.
Not contained.
Just… chosen.
Held.
Unwound.

Because what if you’re not too much?
What if you’re finally enough for someone
Who isn’t afraid of your fire?

What if he’s been waiting—
Not for your body…
But for your truth?

And what if you just found him?

If you’re still reading…
You’ve already said yes.

Not out loud.
Not in words.
But in the way your breath slowed.
In the way your body opened.
In the way your imagination
Is still stretching forward.

So I’ll ask just one thing.

Not with pressure.
But with presence.

Will you step through the door I’ve opened for you?
Not tomorrow.
Not “when you’re ready.”
You already are.

You don’t need permission.

You just need to remember
That everything you’ve been waiting to feel
Is already waiting
For you
Right here.

Step forward.
This is real.
And you already know it.

 

Would you? Could you? Maybe you already are.