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Eleanora Jun 2013
When I look in the mirror and I see nothing,
but they visualize the world in my curves
so I go with it.

I feel degraded, but their satisfaction somehow settles my nerves
more than I’ll ever admit.

There has to be something more than this,
but instead I’m stuck in a mutated bliss
that gives me less than a pinch of confidence,
which I savor as my self-significance... this all I’m worth?
J Nc Jul 2021
You lie there on your side.
Slightly out of breath.
Your face is propped up on your hand.
A slight smile is on your face,
The remnant Of some dumb joke
  I've told.
I love to make you smile

I lie opposite you.
A perfect mirror of you.
I reach out and sloooowly,
(Almost imperceptibly)
I trace one finger along the enticing, promising curve of your hip.
Letting it trail up your skin,
Soft as a babies breath.
You close your eyes and shiver (Almost imperceptibly)...
Your breathing hitches
(Almost imperceptibly), but I catch it.
You roll onto your back
Making my fingers trail fleetingly across the curve of your perfectly proportioned hip
And across your silky belly
Where they come to rest

Looking into my eyes
You take my hand
And lead me...
To my lover and best friend, Ms. Heathern
Savio Fonseca Dec 2020
I shall paint, your Portrait Tonight.
As U unwrap, your Fashion.
To picture, your Beautiful Soul.
With all it's Freedom and Passion.
Lips I shall paint, in Rosy Pink
and Eyes, in Lightish Blue.
Coz when U smile at Me...Darling.
I'm lost in the Universe, with U.
I shall sharpen, all your Curves.
Hope My Eyes, don't go Blind.
Coz seeing your Beauty, My Love.
Even a Saint, will lose His Mind.
Soon My Masterpiece, will be ready.
So Don't fall off to Sleep.
We can Romance all Night.....Honey.
The Memories, We both can Keep.
Aashi Sinha Sep 2020
red eyes, green wine, weak smiles, hollow cheeks, shallow drips.

Dark, not Black.

a desire to be linear, now crowded with curves
sickly sweet
sarcastically sour
no longer sweet, just sour

hot on cold, cold on hot, sweet and sour but sour and sour
tick tick tick, did it feel?
tick tick tick, did you feel?
failed when born, how can change it all, before dawn?
Emanzi Ian Aug 2020
Curves under your dress
Girl you really impress
Nights of drinking
Different kinds of smokes in the air
Constantly,cigarrette in between those beautiful fingers on your left hand
But still,kind as a saint
You share even the smallest in your possession
The way you are ever ready to hear out others and help them with their challenges,
Makes you even more likable
Shiny Bright eyes,fresh as a new day
You are such a perfect mess
Arousing attitude that makes you such a perfect catch
That smile with teeth so white like they are bleached daily
Your laugh so heartwarming like a well-made cup of coffee on a cold morning
Curves under your dress swerve, Left and right when you move
You are indeed such a beauty to behold
I love how you are ever so bold
Even when you are really old,
I guarantee that you'll still shine like purified gold
You are such a perfect mess,
I can never ever forget our first ever kiss.

Copyright Reserved By Emanzi Ian
1 July
Written On 1st July 2020 and edited the next day.
Inspired by the words 'Curves under your Dress' from a Kanye West Song.
Savio Fonseca Jun 2020
The Sun was slowly Sinking.
The Day was almost Done.
When Darkness fell around Us,
We readied Ourselves for Fun.
I felt Her, with My Eyes.
To Memorise Her Golden Spot.
She Kissed Me on My Lips
and watched Me turning Hot.
With Her Ten gentle Fingers,
She guided Me to Her Door,
The Lion in Me got Woken
and We both landed on the Floor.
Hearing Her Moan and Whisper,
I went fondling Her Curves.
Each stroke that I rendered,
we're Tennis Aces one Serves.
kiran goswami Jun 2020
When they look at my body,
they giggle between their teeth that are crooked but they call them curved. They perceive how curveless I look
and tell me to perform yoga
so that my curves can be defined,
so that I can shape my convexes and concaves.
I smile as bright as I can because probably those are my only visible curves.
I tell them how every time I sit to write
my pen curves on the pages
that are thumbed on the corners
so they seem curved too.
I begin by writing the first letter of the English language
and make slopes and valleys of this alphabet.
I form serpentines and swirling cyclones of my words,
I curve my 'S' to form into an infinity
so that I can hold on to him for as long.
I stretch my 'K' until the end of the earth
and make it look like a single leg shoulder stand.
And as I take all my alphabets,
I turn them from staff position to the plough position.
I make my words turn into Paschimotasna,
and my noun tries to perform Kundali.
My pronouns sit in vajrasana.
My similies stress themselves and flex,
while my metaphors curl into themselves and hide as Marichyasana.
When I am done,
my poems form themselves into Pindasana.
I remain coverless,
as straight and sharp as the pen I use.
I remain 'Arjuna's' bow
so he directs me into my own self,
my own heritage
and I end up killing my Bhishma,
my self-respect.
Hence while my words perform yogasana,
I stand still in tadasana.
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