TEMPTING THE TEMPTER ?

He keeps his distance dressed as grace,

A careful gap he won’t erase.

He offers heat, then fades the flame,

And calls retreat a higher game.

She moves like rhythm, low and slow,

A steady flame, a velvet glow.

No chase, no bend, no borrowed spark,

She lights the room, then dims the dark.

His power lives in pulled-back air,

In careful eyes that almost dare.

A touch imagined, never there,

A throne of space, a crown of air.

But something trembles in that rule,

When calm refuses to be fooled.

No raised voice, no sudden move,

Just stillness he can’t disprove.

She wears restraint like sharpened lace,

Soft on the skin, sharp in its place.

She doesn’t move, she doesn’t chase,

She lets the room adjust its pace.

His silence gleams like polished art,

A guarded chest, a measured heart.

He thinks control is where things start,

A shield to keep desire apart.

The dark grows thick, the lights burn low,

Gold spills where wanting learns to slow.

Her stillness starts to overflow,

A pressure he pretends not know.

No chase in sight, yet he is bound,

By how her presence holds the ground.

Nothing taken, nothing done,

And still the balance comes undone.

Because the danger was never chase,

Nor touch, nor sound, nor shared embrace.

The final truth he can’t outrun:

He built the space.

She became the sun.

-MILI