#sensualwriting - Hello Poetry

To love you in past tense— how our past still feels tense. Lips trembling before the first sip; your body: dark roast, a slow bitterness melting beneath heat. I let you steep through every late-night thought; your name lingering like coffee breathed slowly through tired lungs. Brown sugar skin. Cream-soft laughter. You stir my chest in slow circles of want. Empty cups crowd my table; yet your cups still overflow inside my mind. Maybe love tastes better black— still, the first taste of you stayed thick; foam lingering on my lips.

0

May 26

May 26, 2026 at 4:00 PM UTC

OddOdysseyPoet

She Was My Coffee Breath

To love you in past tense— how our past still feels tense. Lips trembling before the first sip; your body: dark roast, a slow bitterness melting beneath heat. I let you steep through every late-night thought; your name lingering like coffee breathed slowly through tired lungs. Brown sugar skin. Cream-soft laughter. You stir my chest in slow circles of want. Empty cups crowd my table; yet your cups still overflow inside my mind. Maybe love tastes better black— still, the first taste of you stayed thick; foam lingering on my lips.

20

A love that I once had, came with a hand— “hand me your heart,” like, "hand me your bra" While beneath candle-handful lights, unwrapping yourself slowly to my delight; as these large hands are quietly learning the language of your curves. Because after love is lost, what hand isn’t still searching for another heart to hold? A chest-hole remembers — a love it once had

0

May 25

May 25, 2026 at 11:14 AM UTC

OddOdysseyPoet

What Hand Isnt Searching for Another Heart

A love that I once had, came with a hand— “hand me your heart,” like, "hand me your bra" While beneath candle-handful lights, unwrapping yourself slowly to my delight; as these large hands are quietly learning the language of your curves. Because after love is lost, what hand isn’t still searching for another heart to hold? A chest-hole remembers — a love it once had

8

Prisoners of feeling; filling empty-heart cages just to feel loved. Chocolate sea-salt skin; wanting a taste of something sweet enough to ruin us, deep enough to keep us. Eating out of your place, hours later calling it our place. Love moves fast like that— a fool at your every stop, the sentence only ending where you place that full stop. So leave commas between every breath; 2 AM, cold walls, two prison mates knocking through loneliness— once, twice, then thrice; both sides aching for escape. Maybe love is just two lonely hearts learning their touch by heart; and each other’s code.

0

May 25

May 25, 2026 at 3:45 AM UTC

OddOdysseyPoet

Prisoners, Full Stops & Hearts

Prisoners of feeling; filling empty-heart cages just to feel loved. Chocolate sea-salt skin; wanting a taste of something sweet enough to ruin us, deep enough to keep us. Eating out of your place, hours later calling it our place. Love moves fast like that— a fool at your every stop, the sentence only ending where you place that full stop. So leave commas between every breath; 2 AM, cold walls, two prison mates knocking through loneliness— once, twice, then thrice; both sides aching for escape. Maybe love is just two lonely hearts learning their touch by heart; and each other’s code.

14

Two shaking lips, trying to speak; my words still learning the shape of me. Flirting speech, from romance lips; I’ll give you flowers— roses, lilies, dandelions, tulips, all pressed softly between every kiss, of these two lips. Grow yourself a garden; let my voice rain over you, plant this seed of belief deep beneath your ribs. Our tree will grow slowly, branches learning our names; and when the heat of the moment finally cools into comfort, we’ll rest beneath its shade... two souls, blooming from the same root of love.

0

May 24

May 24, 2026 at 2:42 PM UTC

OddOdysseyPoet

Two Souls Blooming From the Same Root

Two shaking lips, trying to speak; my words still learning the shape of me. Flirting speech, from romance lips; I’ll give you flowers— roses, lilies, dandelions, tulips, all pressed softly between every kiss, of these two lips. Grow yourself a garden; let my voice rain over you, plant this seed of belief deep beneath your ribs. Our tree will grow slowly, branches learning our names; and when the heat of the moment finally cools into comfort, we’ll rest beneath its shade... two souls, blooming from the same root of love.

12

I kissed two girls, but couldn’t tell their flavouring, like mixing two liquors; burns the same… but I still call it my favourite thing Calling me passive— I’m a passive drinker; I sip, don’t settle… yet let it settle in you. A skin healer— with no need to touch, to touch you; I let you listen, feel the moment crawl under your skin— tongue tracing the tips of your ear, spelling soft sins in syllables. Light a flame beneath your breath— watch it arch into fire; we trade spits of passion, water for thirst… yet still leave each other parched. You call me hardwood— I don’t rush to leave; I just stand there… firm in silence, roots deep in habits I won’t break. So spread yourself— like leaves in their fall; no resistance in the letting… just the sound of giving it all. But if I don’t stay the extra hour—don’t mourn the moment after I leave... I was never built for permanence, just presence. Still— won’t you spark something in my trunk? pour a little more fuel in my tank… I run better on desire than I ever did on love. "Soulmates," we said it like scripture; but cellmates sounds closer— locked in a cage we called, "connection," serving a sentence that felt like a just one. I keep giving love commas— pauses, chances… but it keeps handing me a full stop. I chase it— they tell me, “fool, stop.” Still… I park in your spaces when you ask for space— stay just long enough to be remembered… then I DELETE you before you can do the same to me.

0

Apr 6

Apr 6, 2026 at 2:22 PM UTC

OddOdysseyPoet

This Shouldve Stayed Unread. DELETE!

I kissed two girls, but couldn’t tell their flavouring, like mixing two liquors; burns the same… but I still call it my favourite thing Calling me passive— I’m a passive drinker; I sip, don’t settle… yet let it settle in you. A skin healer— with no need to touch, to touch you; I let you listen, feel the moment crawl under your skin— tongue tracing the tips of your ear, spelling soft sins in syllables. Light a flame beneath your breath— watch it arch into fire; we trade spits of passion, water for thirst… yet still leave each other parched. You call me hardwood— I don’t rush to leave; I just stand there… firm in silence, roots deep in habits I won’t break. So spread yourself— like leaves in their fall; no resistance in the letting… just the sound of giving it all. But if I don’t stay the extra hour—don’t mourn the moment after I leave... I was never built for permanence, just presence. Still— won’t you spark something in my trunk? pour a little more fuel in my tank… I run better on desire than I ever did on love. "Soulmates," we said it like scripture; but cellmates sounds closer— locked in a cage we called, "connection," serving a sentence that felt like a just one. I keep giving love commas— pauses, chances… but it keeps handing me a full stop. I chase it— they tell me, “fool, stop.” Still… I park in your spaces when you ask for space— stay just long enough to be remembered… then I DELETE you before you can do the same to me.

34

Let me usher you as my guide; waiting till love finally gets me in the net — so when I say, “I truly fell in love,” I really fell into that net. I was caught by your eye that caught a glimpse of me, and somehow we connected so well — the right Wi-Fi speed for our feelings, a broad _inter-net,_ where our hearts log on and we land low together, side by side. I admit, my feelings have been on flight mode for most of the time; an injured bird only reminiscing how high it used to soar. I swore by pictures of you pinned to my wall, that I’d frame every bright part of you in my mind. To laugh and banter in good feelings of euphoria; your touch feels a little too euphoric for my introverted nature — I have extrovert visions of a divine love, and that terrifies me… when the goal you hope to reach for still has the power to leave you. In their own shared space and privacy — two lovers’ bodies learn the touch of each other, to breathe upon each other and with each other; her inhale becoming his exhale… two shall climb the mountain of love, to its summit, in the soft burst of passion’s peak. But surely for me, I first need to brave climbing up my hills.

0

Dec 5, 2025

Dec 5, 2025 at 4:40 AM UTC

OddOdysseyPoet

These Hills

Let me usher you as my guide; waiting till love finally gets me in the net — so when I say, “I truly fell in love,” I really fell into that net. I was caught by your eye that caught a glimpse of me, and somehow we connected so well — the right Wi-Fi speed for our feelings, a broad _inter-net,_ where our hearts log on and we land low together, side by side. I admit, my feelings have been on flight mode for most of the time; an injured bird only reminiscing how high it used to soar. I swore by pictures of you pinned to my wall, that I’d frame every bright part of you in my mind. To laugh and banter in good feelings of euphoria; your touch feels a little too euphoric for my introverted nature — I have extrovert visions of a divine love, and that terrifies me… when the goal you hope to reach for still has the power to leave you. In their own shared space and privacy — two lovers’ bodies learn the touch of each other, to breathe upon each other and with each other; her inhale becoming his exhale… two shall climb the mountain of love, to its summit, in the soft burst of passion’s peak. But surely for me, I first need to brave climbing up my hills.

24

Your skin is made of glass— cut by a tear that rolls down your cheek, splitting the good and the wicked parts... You kissed two versions of me... as we all live switching roles— _mirror for mirror,_ mouth for mouth. And when a lover kisses, you kiss back like a reflex, when they get close enough, part of your character becomes theirs— and it loudly reflects.... I breathe when you breathe; I’m so close, I forget whose lungs I’m in. Like a spoon of cinnamon, just a taste of you burns — always so hard to swallow, but I do... And our days spent—have me so spent; spending myself into you, sending everything I’ve got. All of my kisses—_are sent_ All your heat— _passionate scent_ And somehow that scent gives me nosebleeds... That’s the kind of passion you leave in the air. The first time in the morning, I kiss you like it’s the last time— because it could be... Sugar lips— enough to last a time; pull a little closer, let me drown in your stare — I want to see what’s lurking in the shadows of your eyes— could be your wild side. __Might be mine.__ I take you late nights, for some extras you come like a few sides—and I measure you with my eyes... You're such a grand size; I can’t take it anymore— the closer we get, the thinner it feels; the glass— it cracks the further we grow apart.

0

Jun 19, 2025

Jun 19, 2025 at 4:57 AM UTC

OddOdysseyPoet

💔 Fragile Passion

Your skin is made of glass— cut by a tear that rolls down your cheek, splitting the good and the wicked parts... You kissed two versions of me... as we all live switching roles— _mirror for mirror,_ mouth for mouth. And when a lover kisses, you kiss back like a reflex, when they get close enough, part of your character becomes theirs— and it loudly reflects.... I breathe when you breathe; I’m so close, I forget whose lungs I’m in. Like a spoon of cinnamon, just a taste of you burns — always so hard to swallow, but I do... And our days spent—have me so spent; spending myself into you, sending everything I’ve got. All of my kisses—_are sent_ All your heat— _passionate scent_ And somehow that scent gives me nosebleeds... That’s the kind of passion you leave in the air. The first time in the morning, I kiss you like it’s the last time— because it could be... Sugar lips— enough to last a time; pull a little closer, let me drown in your stare — I want to see what’s lurking in the shadows of your eyes— could be your wild side. __Might be mine.__ I take you late nights, for some extras you come like a few sides—and I measure you with my eyes... You're such a grand size; I can’t take it anymore— the closer we get, the thinner it feels; the glass— it cracks the further we grow apart.

39