Taming of the Shrew, a poem

[ma****]

I don’t want to take you.

Not like that—
not like something unattended
left on a table
for anyone bold enough
to claim.

There is no poetry
in theft.

No reverence
in reaching
for what has not
reached back.

I want the moment
before.

The tension—

where your body
betrays you
just slightly,

where your breath
catches
on something
you refuse to name.

Where you resist—
not me,

but the truth
rising in you.

Struggle, if you must.

But let it be honest.

Let it be the kind
that trembles
at the edge of surrender.

The kind that says
I shouldn’t—

while your pulse
answers
I will.

Give me that.

Not your body
without consent—

your wanting
without disguise.

Let me see it
in the way you hesitate,
in the way your voice
lowers
like it’s afraid
of being overheard
by your own restraint.

Say it without saying it.

Or say it.

Whisper something reckless
like make me—

not as a challenge
to conquer,

but as an admission
you are already
leaning toward me.

Because only then—

only then—

is there something sacred
in what follows.

Not taking.

Not claiming.

But answering.

Meeting you
exactly where
you asked to be met.

I want devotion
that rises
because it is called.

I want to give
like it matters
that you wanted it first.

To become
exactly what you needed
only after
you trusted me enough
to admit
you needed anything at all.

So don’t be easy.

Don’t be passive.

Be honest.

Be terrifyingly clear
in the quiet ways
you try not to be.

And if you want worship—

then be
what I already see.

Not perfect.
Not untouchable.

But undeniable.

A gravity
I cannot ignore
because you chose
to pull me closer.

Give me a reason.

Not to take you—

to rise.

To meet you
with everything I am
and everything you asked for
in the spaces
between your words.

And when you finally stop resisting
what was always yours to give—

I will be there.

Not as something that claimed you.

As something
you chose.

[cl****]

beautiful

[Ao****]

Wow

[Se****]

❤️❤️❤️