The tv, open-mouthed—silver-lit, swallowing air in the pauses between my breath.
It drones, a psalm without mercy, louder than prayer, louder than no, louder than me

She had him bound, his wrists tied firmly above his head, the muscles in his arms taut against the straps that secured him to the headboard. His body was hers now—open, vulnerable, utterly surrendered to her movements. She straddled him, her thighs gripping his hips, her hands resting on his chest as she leaned forward, her hair falling in waves around her face.

The straps gave her control, gave her the structure she craved, but tonight they were more than that. They were a bridge—a way to step into a space she hadn’t allowed herself to fully explore before. As she moved, her hips rolling against him, her body slick with sweat and arousal, she felt something shift deep within her. This wasn’t just a game. This was her, stripped bare of everything but the purity of the moment, the intensity of the connection, the holiness of her pleasure.

He looked up at her, his eyes dark with desire, his lips parted as he let out a soft groan. She could feel him throbbing inside her, the heat of him filling her with every ****** of her hips. She moved faster now, her breath coming in shallow gasps, her nails digging into his chest as she worked herself closer to the edge. The straps gave her control, but it was the look in his eyes—the way he saw her, accepted her, worshipped her—that truly set her free.

And then, she felt it—a hand, strong and steady, pressing against the small of her back. It wasn’t his. It was another presence in the room, unseen but deeply felt, grounding her, guiding her movements, reminding her that she wasn’t alone. The touch wasn’t invasive or controlling. It was affirming, supportive, a quiet reassurance that she was safe, that she was whole, that she was loved.

The hand moved up her spine, tracing the line of her body, its touch sending shivers through her. She arched her back, her ******* hardening as she felt the sweat and wetness mingling on her skin. The presence pressed her down onto him, urging her to take him deeper, harder, as if to remind her that she was worthy of everything she was feeling.

Her moans grew louder, her body trembling as she rode him, her thighs burning with the effort, her hips grinding in perfect rhythm. She could feel the tension building inside her, the heat pooling low in her belly, her entire body reaching toward the release she craved. The presence didn’t waver, its hands steadying her, encouraging her, whispering without words that she was enough, that she was beautiful, that she was free.

When her ****** came, it was like a flood, her body convulsing as she cried out, her release gushing over him, soaking the sheets beneath them. It was as if every ****** was a cleansing, a baptism in the purity of her own pleasure, each wave washing away the shame and fear she had carried for so long. She felt the straps on his wrists, the ones she had placed there, but they no longer represented control. They were a symbol of trust, of safety, of the sacred space they had created together.

And still, she moved. Her body didn’t stop, couldn’t stop, as she rode the high of her release into another, and another, her cries turning to moans, her moans to whispers, her whispers to silence as she let herself be carried away by the intensity of it all. She lost count of her *******—four, five, seven, ten—all blending together into one endless moment of pleasure and connection.

The presence stayed with her, its hands on her hips, her back, her shoulders, guiding her, grounding her, reminding her that she was seen, that she was loved, that she was perfect. It was as if the very act of her pleasure had become holy, her body a vessel of purity, her release a sacrament. She felt no shame, no fear, only the pure, unfiltered joy of being exactly who she was.

When she finally collapsed onto his chest, her body spent, her breath heavy, the presence lingered for a moment longer, its hands soothing her, its energy wrapping around her like a warm embrace. And as she drifted off to sleep, her head resting against him, she knew that this was more than just a moment. This was her truth, her freedom, her holiness.

The straps that bound him had set her free

In the name of love..
in the name of   the Value
you bring to the family

In the name of  just how  good
you can make Grandfather feel
on that worn-out, old brown chair

What were you when he started...  four?
He said he loved you
He said this is what love looks like

And you took it into your little mouth

And in an instant
a sweet little, innocent child
became an un-feeling, little product

Of the un-feeling  love of man

This...  or that..
the pull of this world
and its long supply
of disappointment,  is strong

I shall Reframe my Journey
almost continually

There is a swirl..  a rising
line, taut..

before limply settling
back down onto the water

There are moments  in time
that live forever

There is a time within
those moments;
I never truly had
the chance  to live

There is a Journey to reframe


I will find my life again,  
   somewhere

Buried deep
within that framework

When he was little he promised his mommy:
"I won't be like daddy, i swear!"
But promises are often broken
Especially when the person who made it, is broken too

He tried to keep his promise
But he failed.
He failed at everything.
A failure.
Ironic, isn't it?

The little boy turned into a young man
14 years old is a big boy after all
And the little boy slowly began dissapearing.
His mommy didn't like his changes
But he couldn't help himself

Why be a lawyer when you can
Rot in bed reading psychology?
Write poems, losing yourself in your own world?
Become an actor?

But he broke the promise.
Became so fake, being an actor wasn't a problem at all.
He lost the little boy he was before.
But he was still there.

Today, he says "i'm sorry".
But it's too late.
The little boy is dead.

..It brings containment.

When young.. the world was dangerous,
at least the world within my home was.
In order to dilute the moments of perpetration,
I developed the ability to bring my little spirit
into the acknowledgment of atoms,
molecules and particles, within the universe
whose  very entrance into the room..

    could make miniscule,
   that which was behemoth.

In doing so, I was brought into the  awareness
of just how beautiful the Universe really is..
and also the intense depth of beauty that exists
in Realms that are just barely outside
of our awareness.

Within those Realms
and between those Realms,
are spirits that float..  
hovering between this place
and the beauty of that Next one.

Through touching those deeper parts of the Realms,
those spirits are ignited.. .
   and through that beautiful ignition,
   are brought into full flame.

It is there within you, my beautiful friend;
that your Otherworldly words are given birth..
bringing within them, the depth of Love and Healing
  to those of us down here that need it most..

..A beautiful love that yes.. exists within the Realms..
But in it's very essence, flows directly from the Core Heart
of the Universe, which is always the place of Love's origin..
having come from that amazing Heart's deep Ache for us.

That beautiful Ache for us all, deeply touches you..
as you hover in and out of its Realms..
and then deeply touches us..
who have learned to draw on its power and beauty
for even our own very existence.
I am one of those who have had to learn
to draw from those things
just so that my spirit could even breathe..
And in an instant , upon reading,
I realized that you were one of those that go
from this place, up and over to the Next.
What you bring back down to this place,
Ignites every single part of who it is that I am.

You, writing from the feminine form..
mixed with the feminine of the masculine..  
deeply stirs the aching masculine within me.
There is a hunger almost sated,

as it leads into realms of a deeper hunger
and touches a rarely touched, deeper ache.

Warm tingling, leads to almost a tremble..
The deeply-touched heart cannot help but to  pulse
warmly
and fully,
into all of who it is that I am..

Sensations that lead to the need for deep release..
the thick, gathering of that ache
     in gratitude-filled response,

the deepest of penetrations  
into the gorgeously-receiving openness    
of such a beautiful, Life-bringing spirit.

There is a giving and receiving,
that is both Giving.. and Receiving
  in its own beautiful nature.

I hope I have not said too much.
   I am so glad to have you near.

You are a tremendous overthinker
that's for sure. Taking a person like
you on.. with all your chaos
is no small task.
  In order to do that,
I have to take care of myself..
in order to keep from being
pulled down.. or pulled into
your chaotic whirlwind.
  So I create parameters of protection
through my words sometimes
when we talk.

You are not an easy person to take on.

  There are few people in the world
that are even able to truly take on a person
like you, within any kind of depth.
  That is how chaotically traumatized
the inside of your whole beautiful
body is. And somehow you take it
personally when I try to bring
structure in,.  as though you're three
years old,
  and you take regular grown up talk
  as being some kind of threat.
  But.. you are fragmented  and ripped
to shreds on the inside  by those
who truly brought harm
instead of good when you were little.  
  From that place inside of you, a
anything feels like judgment.
Anything feels like it's trying to control you
or put things inside you.

I know that.. and I still love you

  Loving a person in your condition
requires a certain level of self protection.
It's like I have to tie a
special rope around myself when I
jump into your world..  so I can be
pulled back out.
  For me..
The structure of my own words are that rope.
  It is the only way I can love you deeply
and enter into your absolutely broken world
  Please try to understand..
even though it scares you..

Just how much I need that

  If you are able to do that,
then I think you might even be able
to actually love me.
I did not come to steal,
or control..
  .. or fix

I came to be there for you

within all of your broken chaos

I have gotten to the place
where I hate most everything
Except for the deep, raw truth

      of true brokenness.

The love that I  feel
for those  left so alone
undoes the twist of my hatred,

Bringing a warmth  that
keeps me alive, in my deep longing
to be with beautiful spirits,

                       kindred.

His childhood room sits atop of a minefield;
With words berating against the walls;
Breakfast comes in a belittling bowl;
As the lieutenants loiter within the halls.

Stand by, move cautiously;
You might set something off.
Keep close track of your every move,
Perfect the execution or they'll disapprove.

Dare not to cry, keep those fears hidden;
Showing weakness around here is deadly forbidden.
Lost in the field of verbal grenades;
Thrown by those meant to provide him shelter.

It’s been 34 years since the war has happened;
Yet these minefields still exist somewhere in his mind;
I think his parents may have forgotten;
He wasn’t a commander, he was just a child.