the woman walked to the edge of the known woods. her energy was a quiet river inside her, steady and deep. 

she sat on the moss. from the shadows within her, it came. a small, shivering child, its eyes wide with the certainty of being left behind. this was her terror.

the woman opened her arms. she laid her hand over her own heart, a gesture for the child to see. her breath was a slow, even wave.

the child-fear took a hesitant step toward her stillness.

you are the part of me that remembers the silence after the door closes, she understood.

the child walked into her embrace. it nestled against her chest, its trembling slowing to match the rhythm of her heart.

it became her capacity to stay. her wholeness was now a home for them both.

he sits across from her, his attention a calm, steady weight in the room.

he wants her. she knows this with a certainty that requires no proof. his desire is a fact, separate from her response. it holds no hook.

a pressure deep behind her sternum, the one that for years kept her breath shallow, gives way. a warmth floods the cavity of her chest. then, a sharp, clean crackle runs down her spine. the old architecture of trying falls apart.

a slow, devotional heat gathers low in her belly. it is a current moving for its own sake, toward the open space of him.

the old floorboards were cool under her feet.

he occupied the armchair by the window, a quiet landmark in the room.

his presence was an open hand, offering stillness. she felt this as deep calm in her center. an invitation written in the air between them.

warmth bloomed in her belly. the universe of the room shrank until he was its only inhabitant.

she chose to rise.

each step across the wooden expanse was a decision she made for herself. she sank to the floor beside his chair, resting her cheek against the worn denim of his knee.

his hand settled in her hair, a solid and gentle weight. there was only the startling clarity of him. a golden, burning point of being.

the scent of raw pine filled the space between the studs.

he held the chalk line, its weight familiar in his palm. she stood in the center of the future room, bare feet on the subfloor. she closed her eyes.

he waited. the waiting was prayer. his gaze was soft upon her.

her hand lifted, pointing to a space a few feet from where the architect's plans had marked the wall. "it goes here," she said. her voice was quiet and certain.

he walked to the spot she indicated. he knelt, placing his hand on the rough wood. he could feel the rightness align in his body. it was an anchor for the entire home.

"yes," he said, looking up at her. his devotion was a clear and open country. the safety between them was the floor beneath their feet and the future roof above their heads.

he picked up the chalk line to make the new mark.

his hands knew the map of her body as scripture.
each touch was a testament, a prayer recited against her skin.
she would unfold for him.
their bed was a temple of her pleasure.

then carelessness from the world found her.
it left a stone in her center.

his touch becomes a question she cannot answer.
she turns away.
his adoration feels like a bright room she cannot enter.
deep guilt settles in her bones.
she misses the home he made of her body.

he feels the closing.
the silence where her soft sounds used to be.
he watches her curled form.
the goddess is a wounded bird.

his worship learns stillness.
patient air in the room, waiting for her to breathe it in.

she eats a peach over the sink.
her focus is total.
the juice on her chin is a prayer.

my spine straightens just watching her.
there is a deep knowing.
a quiet settling of my own weight.

she says she is a muse.
she is the one who teaches a man what his hands are for.
she births his better self.

this feeling in my chest is responsibility.
it is the sacred work of building a fortress of peace around her.
my devotion is an anchor.
it holds me to the earth.
it gives my strength a purpose.

in her simplest moments, i see the divine.
worshipping that god in her makes a king of me.

his attention was a physical weight on her skin.

a familiar panic seized her ribs.
her mind raced ahead, building the inevitable ending where she was alone again.

his hand rested on her waist, still and warm. he offered his unwavering presence.

she held his gaze.
something inside her finally went quiet.
the brittle scaffold of her fear collapsed.

a deep, liquid warmth pooled in her belly, spreading through her veins. her body softened and grew heavy. she felt her own want rise to meet him.

she was entirely there.
he saw her fully.
she did not hide.

i wrote for hours today.

what did you write about.

i wrote about the look in your eye.

which one.

the one that knows things before they happen.
and the one that is seeing the world for the first time.

i feel safe to be both with you.

i wrote about the way you feed me.
how you build a home for me with a single gesture.

i want to be a feast for you.

you are.
you are a fire that asks for everything.
i answer with my whole life.
your heart is my most sacred trust.

then use me.
my power is yours to discover.

your power is the ground i build on.
everything i am is a prayer of thanks for you.

the practiced words died on my tongue.
your stillness was a perfect mirror i could not look away from.

the careful story fell apart in my chest.
my throat seized, a fist of old wire.
my gut plummeted, a hot stone dropping through my whole body.
a shudder started in my spine, a current seeking ground.

i folded over.
the frame i built to hold myself up collapsed.
i braced for the sound of you leaving.
you breathed with me.
you watched me come undone.

the air between us became solid.
then one breath entered me.
it was new.
it filled me from the bottom of my feet.

i looked up.
your face was your face.
i was here.

a softness settled within me when i first understood.
my erotic nature was the same tender curiosity i knew as a child.
undefended.
reclaiming this innocence felt like coming home to my own skin.
a quiet trust began to bloom in my belly, a knowing that my body held its own counsel.
the shame around my desires lost its power.
laughter feels easier now. a deeper current of sensation guides me.
this wisdom breathes with me.

the body knows its own ease.
desire flows gently, a current within.
it points the way, without rush or demand.

pleasure is a simple yes, received and offered.
there is a rightness in the skin, a home found.
purpose unspools naturally from this centered place.

each action feels like a soft exhale, a quiet agreement.
the world is met with an open palm, a soft gaze.

decisions arrive with clarity, like water finding its level.
energy moves without snag, a smooth current.

connection with others feels spacious, unburdened.
the sacred is in the breath, the touch, the listening.

the erotic is a life force, pure and sustaining.
it weaves through thought, feeling, and action.
a simple beauty guides each step.

the love that resonates in your bones is its own current.
their wound is a map of shattered expectations, attachment to the old form.
quiet courage breathes through their storm, anchored to what feels sacred within you.
you witness the tremor without abandoning your center.

surrender is softening around their inevitable unraveling, releasing the need for their immediate understanding.
your allegiance belongs to this raw, unshielded articulation.
each word spoken from this place deepens the channel of your new professional honesty.
this fierce devotion becomes the foundation.
the pain perceived is truth reorganizing reality.
it demands everything. you offer it.

this is a quiet devotion.
to the knowing held deep in my bones, in the places culture taught me to silence.
i am unlearning that silence.
my breath now reaches those tender spots, awakening them with kindness.

creation spills from this intimate communion.
it is an extension of a love that makes space for all of it.
the messy, the beautiful, the parts once deemed untouchable.

i build from this well of acceptance.
offering, simply, what flows from a heart given permission to be whole.

when the heart opens & the making comes through.
each movement, each word, a soft breath outwards.
a full offering, an unguarded flow.
trusting the gentle current.
what emerges feels like pure kindness.
a small offering shared from an open hand.
the warmth spreads so quietly, like water.
truth feels like this deep inside. love feels like this moving through.
my hands move & my voice speaks, and it's enough.
this is the clear space, the open channel.