Locked in the rhythm,
a dance on the brink,
I play on the edge,
but I never let it sink.
Thighs tremble,
pulse races in the dark,
teasing the climax,
but I never hit the mark.
Each stroke a whisper,
every halt a scream,
balancing on the line
between the real and the dream.
I crave the pressure,
the unyielding hold,
in the space of near-release,
where I’m bold yet controlled.
I love the ache,
the relentless tease,
denial’s my drug,
brings me to my knees.
In this act of pleasure,
I’m both the slave and the king,
riding the wave,
but never letting it swing.
Breath short,
heart pounding with intent,
in the grip of a storm
only I can invent.
Pushing to the limit,
but I lock it all inside,
a master of moments,
in restraint I confide.
So I’ll edge and I’ll wait,
in this exquisite pain,
finding peace in the chaos,
in the loss there’s gain.
For the moment of denial,
where I’m desperately held,
is the throne upon which
my deepest urges are quelled.