Spilled Ink from the Vault

Demure, shy, nervous even, you seem. I am unsure
if it is your age, a relative inexperience, differences
in social reciprocity caused by the autism I doubt is diagnosed,
or maybe I’m intimidating. It would not be the first time. 
And I - 
I am a force with which to be reckoned, some days I worry
my confidence might have started to border on arrogance,
but I will not risk apologising for knowing my worth.  
And you - 
you surprise me as the dominance in me recognises
the instinctual dominance in you, and sees the power 
you could wield.  Your paradox rivals mine. I am drawn
to the primal power in this quiet, respectful, gentle soul.
And in a moment of emotional honesty as raw
as our physical intimacy, I am there once more:
standing on the edge of a cliff I’d sworn to avoid,
and I do not even question the wisdom of jumping. 
Others have searched in vain for a map that might lead
them here, but there is none. The portal opens
only to one who is worthy, and you guide me through it
to depths I never expected to reach.