Dear,

I wonder what I look like to you.

Something soft, gentle— maybe even kind?

Yet, the small tingle that raises the hair on the back of your neck tells you something true.

There’s something dangerous about me. The way I move. How I use words like it’s an extension of soft touch, how I express the velvet noose of myself in gentle sways, and kindly travel, from your core, to your heart, to your mind.

But I bite in heated moments and I love it… to get under skin and slide into thought, when you’re wishing you could be under sheets. Perhaps with a companion, maybe something more.

I’m not a brat, I don’t taunt to receive attention. I am just everything you want and can’t have. I even bake double chocolate chip cookies.

And what I need… in those sheets, in physical thought, is a storm, not to weather in my lighthouse, but in my mind.

I don’t take challengers. Only survivors… because I am a certain peace— yet I do ruin the strong. I can’t help it. That is what I’ve learned to become, it’s what I do. Yet… I wasn’t always this way. I guess I’m challenging who can be the peace of me. No one comes close… even if they go far.

-keeper