i do not touch. i breathe near enough for you to imagine it.
(somewhere between leash and language — i unlearn hiding.)


i do not touch.
but breath comes close enough
to become memory.

you move,
but it’s your chest
that confesses.

nothing happens,
but your bones shift
like something did.
that’s enough.
that’s control —
the kind you want
to call yours.

my hands stay
where they are.
but the room doesn’t.

you say my name
like an accident.
i answer
like a consequence.

they ask what i am.
i say:
not a man.
not a woman.
not a prayer.
a door that only opens
if you stop asking.

⋯

this is not asking.
this is return.
your shadow pressed
against mine
without needing names

i am not waiting.
i am already yours —
in the way silence owns
a scream
that never got out.

don’t call it submission.
call it:
the warmth of being seen
& not corrected.
ƃuᴉʇɔǝɹɹoɔ ʇou &
uǝǝs ƃuᴉǝq ɟo ɯɹɐʍ ǝɥʇ
:ʇᴉ llɐɔ

somewhere between leash
and language —
i unlearn hiding.