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Chad Young Sep 2020
Your ******* remind me of S-curves
on a mountain highway.
Like the curve of the windshield of a Lamborghini.
Like the stick shift of a new Corvette.
Your shoulders remind me of the breaking
of a newly frozen ice cube tray.
They are the tops of the pillars
of your skinny arms.
The flash of your blue bikini
takes my mind away from
your secret face.
Its temperature tells of a moist nose
making a puckered upper lip.
I'm reminded of Cranberries songs.
We should've met with your shirt on.
The rim of your head tells of
a hundred men who would swoon.
No fat on you at all.
Would you even care to look at me
for one more moment?
The roses of your eyes are not yet
in full bloom.
Your blonde highlight tips are like
needles on my skin.
Could I even give a hug
that didn't give away my devotion?

blood rush to my inner thighs
tip brushes
light blue sky behind you
deep blue ocean behind you
three curves tell of your waist
and your navel.
as you stand in this shade
eyes like gray clouds
masking their brown color.
"I don't really want you" she says with a sigh.
"You cannot handle me, why tell a lie."
"Most men only dream of me," with
a Kawasaki Ninja in her eye.
To press against her would sooth my nerves.
Hard or soft its all just fantasy.
Her body's arteries and veins so tightly coiled by her skin.
I'm still here after ******:
untouched and unfelt.
I will always be that picture
written in the story of your life.
She will not let me love her.
She just makes me stare.
Carlo C Gomez Sep 2020
in the sand

Laid out
and toweling off

Curvatures to
algebraic form

They define her lines
shape her axis

My island of

Amid summer's long
For more about this
See the related poem:
Carlo C Gomez Apr 2020
Beaches get jealous
But I'm not repentant

She brought her bikini
And changed where she
Thought no one could see

Heaven knows at sixteen
I was full curious

I saw the goods
Lost my equilibrium
And fell down the embankment

To this day
I may have selective memory
About events

I do, however
Remember the reach
And the bend

And how I swear
Her belly button winked
Carlo C Gomez Dec 2019
For her day at the beach
She chose big time
Fun in the sun
And wore dental floss

Not real safe for the top heavy
Too strong a frolic
And she might well crash
Upon the shore like a tsunami

But that was the least
Of her problems this day
For when she bent over
You could see all the way
Down to Florida
Carlo C Gomez Nov 2019
Have you been to the City of Eternal Sunshine's
navel academy?

Belly buttons in the sun, sparkling and shimmering:
crescent moons like deep wells dug by
the callus hands of Woodspur's
first settlers.

They belong to desert roses, Coachella girls,
where wearing a bikini is not a sin, but a means of survival.

Clothed in eensy triangles, they've walked
with farm workers, reveled with festivals,
and prized the glory of Pueblo Viejo.

One can now better understand how this place
was nearly called Land of the Little Shells.
To the city of Coachella.
Inspired by the poem "Give Me Pretty" by fellow Hello Poetry writer, Bella.
A Simillacrum Jul 2019
that feel when you crawl out of your dumpster, and see your **** neighbor in a bikini at the community cesspool
K Balachandran May 2016
***** sun beats down-
On bikini beach blossoms.
Igniting moment.
Devin Lawrence Oct 2015
A girl bathes in the sunlight in a
Bright red bikini - the kind of red of some lipstick that
caught your attention at the mall.
**** the men passing her by, absorbing
every detail of her body.
Few have felt her touch, that
glorious touch. The touch I’ve grown to
hate with everything
I keep bottled up inside. She likes to play
jokes on a hopeful heart; stealing
kisses from the
lips of a boy, still learning to be a
Man- an idea my father
never taught me, not because of a lack of
opportunity, but because he never figured it out himself. She  
played my mind like the piano keys she used to
quell the
reoccurring thoughts in her mind: those of
self-abuse and insecurities.
To feel wanted and loved, she
uses the attention of those staring eyes as she bathes in ultra
violet rays, questioning if the
water is a comfy kind of cold, much like the
X’s and O’s placed lovingly at the bottom of the note that ended
years of dedication, years of forgetting our uncertainties.

Zero degrees couldn’t be colder than that.
Inspired by Mary Szybist's "Girls Overheard While Assembling a Puzzle."
K Balachandran Feb 2016
Her lubricious bikini has full of criss- crossing fancy strings,
the central idea indeed, seems to be not concealing any skin.
when you pull at any one,
the whole becomes undone,
can you blame if the focus of the action shifts to other things?
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