Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
-I can taste the sensation in my brain
a drug moment defined by you-

a little slip to a lip, to a touch, to much-
such interactions leave my heart in a ****
roll around the cloth in a lump-sum of love
holding onto firm feelings of the swelling of our tongues
back to the white as we dance with our smiles
forth, moving forward in a motion (we won’t turn)-

split the gates wide open
let the honey flow from your wells
face deep in life’s sweet sensations
drinking deep of your sweet nectars-
I will hold firmly to the tiny words cradled in your chest
leaving me breathing until we’re both out of breath-

spread apart, open like a rose in bloom,
our hearts awaken as I hear birds swoon-
a loud and beautiful chirping, given to the space above-
dams held back from bursting forth, no room to keep it held up.
Intertwined, upside down, neck deep in our song,
Flittering and Clittering reversed first in our souls.
a shudder, a touch, and the life of our sound.
Try Dec 2018
you can't game & watch the clock,
that's how you lose another stock,
she run away with your cash,
its a smash and dash,
over in a flash,
at least you still got to tap dat ***,
sitting back puffin da herb,
think how its so absurd
that 69 be the cap
in smash,
that's the ultimate smash,
****** innuendo
right in front of your face,
hurry up and get your fix,
that taste,
that glaze all over her face,
yeah.

© Try
for all those who are enjoying Super Smash bro Ultimate
Autumn Joy Aug 2018
The music that those hands can make..
...
..
.
our fingertip bangs
masterpieces
of
the
heart
you try
an own
that
our fingertip bangs
?
...
..
.
ain't no secrets
on
love
...
..
.
Hadiy Syakir Jul 2017
If I let myself be myself,
then this world will never
have a case of ****** theft
if I let myself be myself,
then I will never be myself.

As the water runs off the tap,
let it flows, let it glows,
tornado, tornado.

If I ever be myself,
then the book would never
have met its owner off the shelf
if I ever be myself,
then what else would have left?

As the mother falls off the map,
let it shows, let it grows,
innuendo, innuendo.

The cut is temporary,
unlike woes.

But arrows
reside deep in the bow.
25/10/2016
Pagan Paul May 2017
I slip the straps and release the clasp
of your over-the-shoulder boulder holder.
Gravity asserts itself, and you sigh as
I wonder if I should get even bolder

because

The jaws of love masquerade
as petals of a flower

so

Just say if you want me to stop.
We are, after all, in the middle of a shop.
I was attracted when I saw you smile.
As we passed in the frozen food aisle.
Now people are staring though the window.
Shocked at my nonchalant innuendo.
And if your purse metaphor extends to this.
We can go to the Bank for a little kiss

though

I may not be able to afford
nine feather mattresses and a golden pea.
But if you could make do
with a lilo and a marble
then …
You've pulled Princess.

© Pagan Paul (30/05/17)
.
Prequel to Even Poets ***** Up A Date (Mar 31)
The 3rd, Even Poets ***** Up A Night Of ***, to be published at some point.
.
amme Jan 2017
Staring at the cold weather through the window,
think of all the ways I can win dough.

Every idea.. BINGO! But my two cents don't pay the rent though.

And I cant eat my thoughts for food so I'm stuck in limbo.
That's a food for thought that ****** up my credentials,
Because they kept offering me a penny for my thoughts until I said I was bruised and scarred so they gave me time off for being "mentally unstable".
If I tell them I'm not, I have to go back to my job of making my way to the hell hole but what choice do I got when It's either that or keep playing the role of scapegoat.

It's driving me insane and the pills I pop wont make the pain go. Meanwhile my stairway to heaven is literally blocked by my guardian angel.
When I die I'm going down
Because I spent my whole life doing it
And feeling it
Cheyenne Aug 2016
They told you you're a white knight,
To take pride in your long sword.
Now you've mounted your noble stead
And it's me you're headed towards.

They told me I'm a damsel.
Made me feel distressed.
Then you came waltzing in,
Shiny armor on your chest.

You want to slay my dragon;
Stick it to the foe.
You think I'm waiting here for help,
But I'm screaming, "please just go!!"

My tower isn't lonely.
That dragon is my friend.
So desist your constant jabbing:
It's annoyance with no end.

Don't try and kiss me when I'm sleeping.
Keep your hands off of my feet.
I don't need your so called valor
To make my life complete.

And you, dear prince, don't need to charm me--
You are more than how you wield your weapon.
Fair maidens needn't be your quest--
They'll tell you different--the trick is not to let them.
George Anthony Aug 2016
cool. lightly scented. i sit alone in the reception of a spa. tranquil tones soothe the atmosphere. i lean against the wall, and wait. a fear of physical contact roots me to the spot; they will not touch me. impatiently. silently. i wait.

grey, cloud-tinted sunlight blankets the day. it was blistering heat earlier. i think of the way sweat pooled in the hollow of my chest as your tongue dipped over my collarbone. my back in damp grass. hoodies abandoned. who cares about a little mud when the things we do to each other go beyond *****? somebody might see was a quiet worry drowned out by rough breaths and guilty little whimpers.

now, i am thousands of miles away from you. six hours of time difference. phone vibrations. my unshakable conviction that you might leave me be if i ignore you, even as i miss your touch. sitting alone in a spa reception, too uncomfortable with the idea of hands on my skin. but i miss the pads of your fingertips digging into my sides. palms clamping my wrists either side of my head. pinned in place by ocean eyes that drown me.

we will leave for the secret garden soon. coffee will be placed between my palms. maybe hot. i'm feeling a chill in my bones that wants to be chased away. my mind's eyes conjures an image. memory. you sit across from me on four hours of sleep. your body vibrates on caffiene overload. you are like me sometimes. but my poison is bitter, coffee beans; your poison is an attack of fizzing sugar on your cardiovascular system.

maybe. maybe that's the answer. why you're sweet. why you escape confined spaces (read: relationships. you are like me sometimes.) like bubbles leaping from a can. maybe it's why i'm dark. with an aftertaste almost everybody is determined to chase away.

something tangy hangs on the air despite the spa's best attempts to provide aroma therapy. my mind pines for your natural scent. light washing powder. a little musky, like faint sweat. not the sweetest, but real and warm. i can find it. i reach for it, fingers finding warm skin. we press chest to chest and this hardly feels real. motorbikes and scooters rumble by. your voice is a ghost in my ear. too quiet to be present.

eyes open. receptionists wander. you are far away. my eyes glaze over anyway. sleepless nights and busy days. i slump into scenery: green grass, wrangled trees, a brick wall decorated with poison berries and stinging nettles, a blue sky with white clouds. your body above me.
I don't know. Ramble prose.
Next page