I don’t raise my voice, just the heat in the room.
No need for roaring, when the air listens.

You step like you're testing the floor.
I stay where stillness holds power.

My glance is a pulse, a quiet decree.
The kind that bends time without breaking skin.

You offer storm,
I press calm against it, steady, like hands knowing exactly how to hold and when not to.

So when you move, know:
the rhythm’s already chosen, and
I’m not chasing.
Just waiting until you feel it pull.