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On banana flower's *******
Three avaricious bats suckle.
Above, few still circle.
Carlo C Gomez Nov 2019
Victoria has a secret,
and now it's high time
to get this off her chest:
for what seems an eternity
she's endured them.

Far from supporting or uplifting,
instead they get under her skin.
If she lets them slide on the job,
it only makes for awkward
adjustments later.

Still, they used to adore her,
shoulder-to-shoulder,
now they're a form of torture.
True, they were never an exact fit,
but sometimes they worked wonders.

Now, they make subtle digs at first,
but by day's end
they've always left their mark.
It's said to keep one's friends close
but one's enemies even closer,
and that's no stretch.

Maybe it's time to string 'em up and free the ******!
Nat Lipstadt Aug 2017
when a lost muse is no excuse,
when the mundane and the profane
are away on summer holiday,
and you are currently on the divine’s
'u **** - no write list'

nonetheless the itch in the private
spaces is driving you crazy,
write a poem, write a poem,
in the way a grandmother
(or a mother to a grown child)
whiny nags,
its a nice day, go outside and play
with a strange man,
whatcha ya gonna do, the walls are all painted,
and the good bad boys are out of town, all with the  
other bad good girls, who got there first,
but we will write of
******-rings and
other crazy songs you sing

it is not important you the reader understand every verse,
like Patton said, "it only matters that I know,"

which line is a joke,
which around your neck, your customized yoke,
which the plaintive wail to no avail,
which is the regret that never can be sated,
which is the frustration cratering inside the chest,
which is just, just enough to make a satisfactory smile
upon the lips appear

whose lips?
who cares?
as long as you don't have to hear me sing my poetry
but hear me smiling at
the power of whimsy
and the return of
my no longer muzzy

Ms. Minx AMuse-me
<£>
2:13pm
a poem in reserve for you, the Canadian girl
Jaclyn Harlamert Mar 2017
Free the ******!
Live with less clothes!
Live with less ego...
Live with less standards.
Get rid of the borders.
You don't need that bread.
Underneath the pants
we all have the same parts,
There's vaginas,
There's penises,
and people who have both.
Right and wrong is like
***** and ******;
Relative to perspective.
So who's to say,
who should love who,
or what one should do.
Don't tell me
what to do with my body!
Help free the *******!
There's nothing wrong with not wearing clothes!
Its not an invite for ***!
Lets stop judging our vessels of life!
Joe Cottonwood Jul 2015
At your breast he likes to play
     dive-for-the-******.
Like an Olympian on the high platform
     he rears back,
     contemplates the distance,
     the object,
then lunges.

Today he grabs his own hair, pulls.
     And screams.
The more he pulls, the more he screams
     until I unclutch his fingers.

Don’t we all wish sometimes
     a big hand would swoop down
     to unclutch us
     from our mistakes?
Then, oh! to rear back
     and lunge
at life’s big love.
Raggae tonic Nov 2014
When I was small enouf to **** da ****** of me mother (13),
I found da great sensation of da *****,
Me uncle Batius make me a sandwich every day,
He know dat I like a da strong cheese,
So he put it in everytime,
I did not know dat da cheese was gangja smoke til much lata,
I neva undastood wy it make me so happy,
until

I *** yo  *****
Music provides a blanket of background noise,
As you sit, in a velveteen chair, legs parted, hands on your knees,
I stand between them, silhouetted against flashing gold lights,
I stare down into your upturned face & slowly begin to undress.
Piece by piece my clothing drops to the floor at your feet,
Pooling around my clear, stiletto heels.
Your eyes too drop down, lingering on my *******,
My skin, soft & sun kissed, shimmers golden in the soft light.
I turn slowly, allowing every curve of my body to be illuminated,
The arch of my back, the contour of my hip & the arc of my buttocks
Your eyes trace down my thighs, now spread & back up,
As I bend, & reveal my inner most secrets to you.
My sweet opening that promises so much pleasure,
Just inches from your lips & your tongue & your pleasure.
Slowly I slide to my knees, down on all fours, face to the floor,
Inviting you to enter me, visually, take me with your eyes,
I turn to meet your groin & I watch with interest,
As I play with my ******, at the stirring that may come.
I rise up instead, to my knees, cupping my *******, blowing,
On my now ***** ******* & my eyes reach yours,
And time & space hold for us, as we join together, for a second,
Before I lean in, my breath on your cheek & I whisper,
That's £20 please.

— The End —