Within  the stability
Of a late-night bed,
    thighs part fully
from words  given..
    Words, sent

Hands  on curved hips;
*******, to bare chest..

As the daughter  of Light
   is lifted up

there is an Entering

In Seed-splashed egg
a  New Beginning;

Chains  of steel
  falling free
within  the warmth
of   each  new  Pulsing

(there is the  sound of Ecstacy
on the  inside  of the door;
on the other  side of it--
the forever-harsh  clank,  
of judgement)

You make yourself easy to be seen..
    by someone like me.
The only  thing I would think you would  find
  as surprising

Is why it has taken this  long
for a beautiful Thoroughbred in Spirit
such as you
to finally be seen
for exactly who it is that you are

Free from assessment or judgement,
I would venture so far to say  
that the greater  central part
of who it is that you are,  
is (sadly so)  tremendously lonely.

Again, not a judgement  at all,
but an assessment of life in general.
A lover like me would be perfect,
but I am  (as you could guess)
spiritually volatile in how deeply I push--

..Even within the normal  give and take
of everyday things. Sometimes  even
one well placed  word  can bring one
off-center and into  (and towards)
an even deeper part  of their own journey.

Most gorgeously-luscious
Thoroughbreds such as yourself
usually  pick less 'challenging' partners
in order to have a somewhat more
'stable' home life..

..But sadly with that also,  develops
a relationship where the deeper,
   more exctasy-based and driven
      parts  of  you

   are left with no choice
   but to become, dormant..

in order to protect the 'beautiful-luscious'
within you from slipping into despair

--Until one day,
what you have been avoiding
   (longing for)  most,
shows his *******.. unorthodoxically-untethered,
brazen attitude (and perfectly clear eyesight)

   and suddenly you become seen.

There is absolutely no way
with some one like me  that you..
(within all of your Wondreous,
   Deep-feeling Glory)
would not eventually be seen.

I urge you to take  every single
part of it all,  in..
(the very thing you were "built" to do)..
Even if in doing so, you were almost
continually brought right up  to
(and so very often, "over")  the edge

Gifted fingers, helping the body  find
its own form of release,
when the pressings of Spirit,  mixed
with the deeply-Penetrating View  that
Love carries within every single  part
  of itself..
..Those gracious fingers are not 'up to no good'..
   but instead..
(by the very Deeply-Understanding
nature of Love itself)..  
  both they..  and the  whole
  beautiful process of Release..

      is deemed, Holy.

The physical human body  becomes
pushed way too far  within its limited
ability to contain,  the Wholly
uncontainable Ectsatic Pulsings
  of Love's true Agenda.

Perfection knows that and says
      (so do I)..

     "How could she not?"

Be gracious to yourself, girl.
You have wanted to live
within the Beautiful Realms,  
worthy of your calling.

   Welcome Home ❤

~

Till sunrise comes once more...

You and I…alone
Beneath a silent crescent moon
Sultry sighs echo passion’s enchantment
Fireflies swirl illumined whisperings
Hydrangeas glow luminous desires
Your love envelopes me…breathless

Azure wing’d rapture engulfs
Ferverous lips ignite dark chocolate pulsings
Savoring luscious yearnings
Rhythmic motions blur starlit fantasies
Entwined of twilight fingers…roaming
Softly probing cherry blossom seams

Satin cream thighs…aching… delicate…fragile
Slowly entering, honeysuckle’s fragrance’d portal
Warmth devours gripping’s pleasure
Moist tongues dance tango’d steps
Crimson trickles paint skin’s textures
Cricket song wafts fever’d pitch

Comets blaze heaven’s canvas
Harmonies melt…one voice pleads
Echo’d moans soar elevated
Pearl’d beads mingle…lustrous
Glisten’d affection unfolds
Midnight beckons endless dreams

Till sunrise comes once more…my love

in me there is a grand heat
it's the purpose of my blood
hot stinking rivers
adolescent steam wafting
serenade a pile of burning ***

    a word tremendously whispered
shatter my lips. savage Gravity my cells
scream for thee. (lay open the stuttering
of my heart and place in it your fluid
                     i'll **** every hesitation
and blast your skin with shimmering agile
pulsings of my lungs; emptied upon thee)

make me raw little knife. the serrations of your
nails dance and please my flesh. motes of fire
         dimple the vassal of my will
how sharp thou are

please hurt me

Your *******, when love-based
within their beautiful forming,
and then  glorious unfolding
are Love and Light's  extracorporeal
pulsings;
focusing   l o v e t on e d
sonic shockwaves directly at the  machine's
extremely intricate innerworkings..

Having,  through years of horror-based
survival tactics; in desperation.. slowly learned;
now ingrained-- softening up the very
innerwall-linings of your very spirit
in such a way as to unknowingly
provide footing
for the machine's  deep embedment,
and then,  permeation  of all things
previously, you..
having now enwrapped itself into
your very sinews

holding your precious spirit   captive
from the the soar

These passionate, late night forays
outside the wire with you
are not exploitative, but instead
are love-driven  deeply focused,
fully intentioned pingings of Light's
Relational sound waves
aimed directly at the beautiful you
held so tightly, so covetously by the machine
as your wonderfully  nectar-filled body
responds late at night, aligning
to the me, you have come to know..
heightening your beautiful response
to the point of screaming,  passionate release--

your own, fully love based..

      extracorporeal..

unwelcoming,   of the machine.

D Vanlandingham

My hands..
gently around her throat
as she momentarily
slips away, from the pain--
her beautiful doe-eyes, a full
submittal of trust..
(and I am worthy of it all..
so very very worthy, my beautiful)
and deep within  her release

she takes love in
she takes it in

There is a rope in the garage
that has her name on it
the bannister at the top of the stairs
(so very, very unworthy)
to provide support
for her beautiful body
that  now, only wants
to no longer  have to carry the pain
The rope does not  carry within it
the warm-blooded pulsings
of my own, heart's love--

  (it does not feel your trust,
   at the moment  of release..)

but    like me,
it has no concept of how to let go..
my hands--  they release
at the moment  of your own..
the tears in your eyes, say it all to me--
that you don't want me to  ever
learn how to let go.
The rope,  being pain's release
in to the final

Mine, a never-letting-go
into  the  forever

my hands  they ease their grip
but my heart--
      no..

      no   not,  ever.

Enfoldings; picturesque enfoldings of memories.
Grey, hazy sights. Night brings desire to know someone again, deeply.
Fitting into sheets, blessed, breath, hot, sweat
dreamy or needy, blessed or
cold. How so cold?
Corporeal pulsings that used to quell and now do not
Now love swells, then it did not -
How did I ever sleep with a heart so hot?
Day break, forgetting - May days bring no mind ache.
A bare witness. One, alone, bedroom
soulless, mornings act, forgetting morning and
focusing on who I am now, bed plans
*** pangs
focusing on picturesque foldings of hands.