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N 2d
There is beauty in buried love—
tenderly wrenching.
The subtle and soft carry so much more power,
and every touch is a stolen blessing.
No moment is taken for granted;
we are present.
Every look: a confession
to be churned over and over,
while we waltz with desire
never hastily.
We are ravenous for a love so blatantly before us but we don’t dare to indulge.
Mm-bap-bap Mm-bap-bap Mm-bap-bap
So we make beauty with the withstraint and we call it discipline.
seraph Sep 3
tendertendertendertender.
hold me. i demand it. tenderly.
splay your fingers the long of my spine atop my shirt,
press your chest to mine and caress caress caress me.
clutch at my hips and let your fingertips
leave bruises to prove you were there.
nip at my lips, my cheeks and *******.
lap hungrily, dig your tongue into tender flesh.
drag your mouth over mine,
over and over and over and over.
i want to taste myself more than anything.
seraph Sep 1
pressedpressedpressed so tightly to your chest,
i scratched and clawed and clung and held on.
your hand under my sleeve, up my shirt,
so tender, it hurt to look at you.
we lay in the dark blue of the night,
so silent, i might cry,
you pressedpressedpressed your chest so close to mine;
all my nerves fired at once.
Lilly F Aug 13
warm like the summer sun in the evening
and as tender as the summer moon at night


©L.F.
pt 3 of the series of poems I've been writing: what I love about you
Anastasia Jul 7
heartbeats
and starry eyes
what would love be
without you
lips
linger
touch
is tender
what would love be
without you
tremulous and tender, the crook'd finger
neither timid or tentative,*
yet trembles,
though it be from
care, not fear, consideration, not trepidation

the renegade finger strokes her sleeping cheek,
tender the tip to each cell beloved, as if sealing a bond
there is no more to say

when awakening comes, one will be gone,
with no note, thus this last soft stoking, outline stroking
tremulous and tender, his finger, U shaped-crook'd,
but he is no longer is her
you


he leaves, departing, yet lightly shaking,
no longer can he be her prized and proud claiming show-horse,
gone, that man she loved, for he cannot abide his being
called a former, dark glory, a bent cane spirit,
his body, its entirety,  
crooked by weight of an improvident provision,
not just his finger, this, his, 
a greater intolerable,
his pain of failure unacceptable
and shame searing,
his woe bends his love acrooked
eye roll pita-patter
that went to flatter
the doily with a queen in absentia
but her placenta wear halter in zebra
to fabricate ***** but a summer thrill up yonder
in a bat cave wonder
with blond tenderness so blind
yet her sunken ***** there
her patriarch kind butter
this ice grab yellow
Jason Adriel Jun 9
What I lack in me
You, like a tree
Provide always for me

Even though you're no longer with me...
What love is
It’s a hazel daze
Your eyes so close to mine
As we stretch and groan
On this lazy Sunday morn
Delusional smiles crease our faces
Kisses planted on foreheads
Soft and tender
Like a thornless rose
Intertwined like vines
Crawling up a terrace
In this moment
I wish to stay
In the arms of my love
Where I know I am safe
My love keeps me sane ❤️
Jason Adriel Jun 2
you lied, I said, you lied to me
I have dressed myself to look pretty
who do you think it's for?
why, for me, of course, he said
his eyes searched elsewhere for beauty
Franz, my one and only Franz,
am I the one and only Clarissa for you? I asked
you waited
tick
tock
tick
tock
yes, yes you are! you said
the golden sun ripped through the blinds
you let out a sigh, a very sad one
and we spent the rest of the day
staring at each other
not knowing what to say
not knowing where to start
forgetting how to kiss and make up
must we, in this wave of falseness, lay?
a poem of infidelity.
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