moving with you, I'm invincible;
yet the most tender I'll ever be.
(when you’re combing your fingers through my hair i can forget that most people’s first impression of me is to steep in trepidation. all bark all bite when we’re holding hands in a street, but lanky lapdog on the lounge. you’re underestimated. my secret spitfire, to whom i’m never on my knees in supplication; only to offer - what’s mine is yours. pain, pleasure, power. we share.)





















