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Long and lithe fingers,
comfort moulded into cones,
is where art kisses geometry
and meets one of its own.

Her hands are to touch
manicured and glazed,
you feel home and lost
a Pharaoh now, and next a waif

The nails, you find and wonder
filed for a student and trimmed.
Not a wisp of colour
bare as a bone, naked and skinned.

Snug in a life song,
a pallbearer of untold griefs,
they are a stark sight
of colourless coral reefs.  

On but a blue moon,
they’re a savoury rare,
when hungry eyes feast
on the riotous fair.

Why, one day, I ask thee?
She would smile and wouldn’t tell.
‘Never felt like’,
is her No Comment.
LC Apr 8
before I step out into public,
I lock my opinions in a safe
that resides deep within
the ridges of my brain.
I wear a sweet smile
to mask the dull pain
radiating throughout my body.

but when I enter my safe space,
I strip myself of that smile,
and look my pain in the eye.
I dig into the ridges of my brain
to grab and unlock the safe.
I welcome my vulnerability
in all its undisguised nakedness.
#escapril day 7!
Hera Apr 3
You seeing my naked soul,
I can't help but think,
"Why did I fall?"
I knew this from the start,
You got me with all your ****
I thought sweetness
Has to play a part;
But it's me slowly
Falling apart.
Betty Mar 5
I strongly suggest that you put on a vest
and maybe some pants
nobody wants to see
what is dangling from your people tree
I think it would be best
if you got yourself dressed
it's a sensible request
before your arrest!
I wrote this in response to a horrible prompt word
Payton Mar 1
The French call an ******
“la petite mort” or “the little death”

tango with lips, teeth, and tongue
undress each other with our eyes
an unspoken agreement that
we’re both dying a little tonight
This poem was written in 2020.
Payton Mar 1
Resurrected, I arose
for mornings thick with lust
and love and caffeine and naked kisses
And again, when night came
I did too, and fell sweetly, sinfully  
prey to the small death
ushered in with a grand symphony
of your name
This poem was written in 2020.
Yazad Tafti Jan 27
i wonder i

really really wonder

why does nothing seem wonderful anymore.

your smile is not as warm as it used to be lil wayne said i got ice in my veins

morning snow gave me a cure turned my frown upside down

the beauty of fresh silk cast upon naked grounds by the master weaver himself

the real beauty lied in the characteristic of it's ability to rush my blood to my skin, make my temperature drop below body regulation, a prolonged decision of hypothermia

in extreme cases of hypothermia, victims undress themselves and are found naked in the cold due to biologically responsive effects

we are born naked , why not die naked too

at least we died cool (pun)

it makes me wonder
i really www -ww-woo-w-onde

(slows breath)

poetry or not i like gfetting me thought ouuuut
Gossamer draperies swell
with heat, eastern winds
push daylight
over tangled bodies.

Fingers travel up
and down your naked torso,
my hand caught suddenly
in yours as you stir,
a sleepy god awakened
by the warmth of morning.

Your body, a sundial,
keeps perfect time with mine;
two lovers cached in silken strands,
our sacred place now fully lit
with the hunger of summer.

The solstice lingers past its prime,
drifting over equator
and into southern skies
as autumn patiently waits
outside the bedroom door.
Mystic Ink Plus Dec 2020
Poetry to me is being naked

No shades
No regret
No shy

Thank you
Genre: Abstract
Theme: In Being
annh Dec 2020
There is place in my mind
Where my thoughts can wander freely,
Once they stop inspecting themselves
So very very CLOSELY;
A place where they can dance
Naked around the living room,
Unencumbered by attention
To detail, to the opposite of detail,
To the opposite of the opposite of detail.

The tricky part is that to find this place
I must get lost looking for it;
Only ever realising that I was there
Once I am no longer where
...Intention meets in-attention...

‘Everywhere's been where it is ever since it was first put there. It's called geography.’
- Terry Pratchett, Wyrd Sisters
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