She moves through the room
like a shadow,
her eyes a soft command,
a flicker that speaks without words.
They don’t see the strings—
thin as spider silk,
invisible to the untrained eye—
but they feel the pull.

Her smile is a thread,
twisting around their hearts,
tightening when she needs it,
loosened when she’s bored.
She knows how to play the game—
how to make them dance
to the rhythm of her whims,
like puppets on fragile strings.

One glance
and their worlds tilt,
bending toward her gravity,
unaware that they are falling
into her hands.
They are drawn to the edge of her fingers,
her touch like a spark
setting them alight,
and they burn,
bright and fast,
until the flames flicker out,
and she is already moving on.

She whispers in the quiet spaces
between their desires,
shaping them with her words,
chasing them with promises
she has no intention of keeping.
She laughs,
a sound like music,
but it’s a tune they’ve all heard before—
the melody of control
that hums beneath the surface of her smile.

Each one believes he’s different,
special,
the one she’ll let slip the strings,
but they all end the same—
a puppet,
lost in the tangle of their own need,
tugged in directions they can’t understand.

She plays with them like a song,
each man a note,
each kiss a chord,
until the harmony falls apart
and the music fades into silence.

Then she moves on,
another dance,
another puppet to pull into her world,
and they never know—
never see
how they were only ever
a part of her show.