A poem I wrote for my Vixen:
Stag’s Devotion in the Shadows of Our Den
You come to me softly,
a shy vixen with a quiet heart,
as though your desires are secrets
you’re afraid to whisper too loudly.
But I know them.
I feel them in the way your breath trembles,
in the way your eyes lift slowly toward mine
seeking permission,
seeking strength,
seeking guidance.
You are gentle heat wrapped in curves and softness,
a woman who carries tenderness like a hidden ember,
glowing brighter each time you trust me
to draw it out of you.
And I love you for that—
for the way you unfold in my hands,
for the way your shyness melts
when you feel my certainty around you.
You bloom not from boldness
but from safety,
from the quiet knowing
that you are loved, protected, and wanted
exactly as you are.
When you reach for another,
seeking connection,
conversation,
affection,
and the intimacy my body can’t provide,
I feel no threat—
only pride.
Because you go with my blessing,
my support,
my steady presence in the background,
watching over you as you share
the pieces of yourself
that long to be held and touched
in ways meant only for a single, chosen man.
And even then,
you return to me—
your head on my chest afterward,
your voice soft,
your heart steady,
reminding me this bond,
this den we built,
is your true home.
I love that your shy smile
is the doorway he must earn,
that your trust opens slowly,
carefully,
and only where it is cherished.
I love that you want more than touch—
you want words,
phone calls,
a gentle boyfriend’s warmth,
the steady emotional thread
woven alongside ours.
And I love that I am part of it,
welcoming it,
guiding it,
watching your beauty unfold
in all its tender complexity.
You are my vixen—
shy, passionate, loyal,
with a heart that seeks connection
and a body that longs to be fully known.
And I am your stag—
strong, still, steady,
your protector
your witness,
your anchor
in every breath of desire
that moves between us
and beyond us.
Wherever your softness wanders,
whatever warmth you share,
you remain mine—
not by force,
not by claim,
but by choice,
every day,
in every quiet returning.