The end of every hour my mental partakes in the steady mapping of your landscape. Lost in your hike and camped in the deep valley of my everlasting devotion for you the sun has set in me. To my sense the stench of your cologne and my exhaustion wears off and lingers in thee air with salt water and island fever. I've been isolated on this island of your promise, engulfed deep under the waterfall headed toward the banks of your masculine possibility. Seeping into temptations quick sand. Desperate to continue on I thrust my physical high & low tossing your sweet salty grains of once twice and again. On all fours I have been grounded submissively given unto the land and its journey ahead. Selflessly connecting to all regard of your nature. Maybe then I could be the soil in which your hands plow in our garden of exchanged tenderness. Planting your seeds deep within me, watered by wishes in hopes that your roots would spread long thick and heavily in my brown plow. Maybe then I can wrap myself around those tentacles long enough to bear the fruit of your late night labor. Confident in the concept of withstanding the wrath of seasons with your infinite effect. Worked rugged on your path less traveled may I rest in thoughts of you there after because once with you my mind has painted your landscape forever. ~Zsazsa khu Lawson
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