"amatory" poems
An ****** haircut,
she does give,
that only a lover can;
sweetly amatory
are the cuts and nicks,
that heighten
my sensual pleasure.
click of scissors -
the sound her lips make,
when we hesitantly unlock,
after a long, squiggly, sloshy kiss.
*now, her scissors
get busy, giving the
tips of my hair
sweet pain of love bites,
my ***** are on fire,
goosebumps sow desire,
my eyes, wink and shut,
if I swoon, no wonder,
this sweet torment,
brings me to the limits.*
Oct 11, 2012
Oct 11, 2012 at 10:30 AM UTC
Not against the peaks of protest, these aurulent banners and jasperated jaspe so so jargoon! It's like I was suddenly alive, beat-stretched out of winter neige and into the pancosmic blisses of bright and ebullient spring, plugged with an agromania to abide this new formidable friend in the aeviternal beauty of she and I togetherness. Never to spill a morsel of a minute away from us again, upon the newly conjured spirits unto us both. To be amidst a cynosure of such affiation, to be in the temperate or tropical gardens whispering about our mutual love for flowers nad lists. This that precedes us, bright colliding auras in this newfound numinous kindling of us two. Watching it, making it happen- it unfolding before me made me naseaus with excitement, dithering what our next move out to be. I just wanted to kiss her face, her cheeks, put our hands together so quickly, just to let our amorous fug fill the room with silver albuminious smoke from our breaths. Miles below this, round the Earth to other places, there are the fixtures of bright and corybantic life commoved by other nations and other poised people of the light, that I should not be idle in my desires to usher myself into this grand and briguing introduction. So she said, we will play the question game, the inquiry game, we will state the mark, draw upon deep and fantastical recall, bring from our minds the most immense truths and share them, no matter now feral, or caustic, or melancholy- they will be shared until we explode with each other, our intrigues wrapped in our perfervid and amatory excitedness for one another. Too vast with wonder to be afraid of- am I such a fiend for such resplendence. That we could be vitrified in eternity in a veil of fulgurite. So at this nightfall, this acronychal of bloviating bliss, to write and wonder, incessantly in the finest of provincial matters to settle this garden where Thetis lives to be of her, two philocalists in verdant pasture, heaped with matters of the pen and the palm, in the droves of this beautiful advesperating eve- where first I wrote to you, and then I wrote you back.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 5:15 AM UTC
a tornado from the blue
of unleashed amatory instincts,
with a Kamasutra mind
in full play, from the center,
more inventive than the original;
your sudden appearance
in my orbit, after a while,
for this intervention extraordinary
had splendid consequences.
hell, one never could have asked for more!
Making me passionate
beyond my tolerable limits
with violence fashioned as love bites,
wild play of nails on skin expanses,
and other salacious techniques
were as ever, your optionals--
worked on me like never before
I reinvented myself
as a natural in the art of
complete merger-
the yoga of mind and body
the perfected art of Eros,
exactly the way you envisaged
the waves still madly erupt
for you to take care,
which ever way you like.
Nov 8, 2011
Nov 8, 2011 at 11:07 AM UTC
Sweltering insurgencies of electric power chords
Tribal reverberations of skin-stretched drum boards
Rolling and filling; syncopating the noise
Of the tit-less toys
The dick-less boys
Enraptured in the music
The anthem
Of invidious phantoms
My eyes hurt inside and
I want to pull them out and
Scrape out the gunk and rust
that’s behind my self-indulgent perseverance
so I can cry
for the first time in years…
Wrapping my hands around his slender torso
Licking away the paint, the dripping ooze; more so
Than hastening my ****** and mordant urges
To bite what emerges
And my mouth purges
The obelisk from underneath
The iron-pierced jester
The voracious molester
My hand tightens as I grip
his throat tighter and
I want to squeeze until his eyes pop
from his sockets and
laugh until I puke against the walls,
watching the ****** fluids mix
like an execrable marinara sauce…
I turned thirty while still being sixteen
The vivid beauty of the world was only in dreams
But none of mine, none that I can recall
Many years have passed since I took the oral fall
Where no one saw
Intransigent need to live
For the snake in my veins hungered for more
So many had their way
until I was limp and sore.
Defamatory fingers of mire and strife
Probing and stretching
My insides
And devilishly comforting
With limpid ambrosia
That’s infected by bilious worms and maggots covered in icing
And fruit
Amatory gauntlets fastened and secured over
Handless limbs that retract under matriculated frictions
That fracture, crack, morph, distort
Emphasize, marginalize
Rationalize, desensitize
Acts of *********** evasion, moral drainage;
Pieces, bits, chunks, sections, portions, servings;
Arms, legs, eyes, tongues, fingers, toes,
Love, lust, infatuation
Adoration
Boys, girls, women, men,
Angels, demons, monsters, humans
Creators, gods, titans, divas
All extended and limited from the minds that worship
Sanctify, mesmerize, glorify, rectify
While humans eat more, love more, **** more
Than the angels, demons, monsters, and titans
We ponder and cherish
Nevermore, for me
Ever lore, for all
Crows surround
And chaos found.
Apr 22, 2013
Apr 22, 2013 at 11:11 PM UTC
Night appears in an avatar
of a sweet chaperon,
coming with a lovely dark gown
to dress the shy, blushing evening
cajoling her for a slow make over,
she implies, it's better letting
the will of darkness prevail.
Now she is a perfect charmer
night, lets her long dark tresses
loose, that flows in waves
down through her back and
caresses her rotund proud buttocks,
adding to her silent grandeur,
till the next spectacular day breaks.
Night is an ace temptress
with full moon at her side
as an irresistible magical charm
to sway even nature, catch
the sea in her net,
of attraction and makes it dance,
bewitching night makes
the stars in her coiffure gleam.
Night is an agile courtesan,
having royal patronage,
eyeing you wistfully,
hellbent upon her this day's conquest,
her amatory skills one can tell
will be kinky,she is classy nevertheless.
In her boudoir, women are salacious,
hungry men too dance to her tunes,
what you gain after a spirited
amorous duel, is the gift of dark eyed night.
Mar 29, 2016
Mar 29, 2016 at 6:51 AM UTC
Intense ****** desire or appetite. A piece of furniture for seating from two to four people, typically in the form of a bench with a back, sometimes having an armrest at one or each end, and partly or wholly upholstered and often fitted with springs, tailored cushions, skirts, etc.; sofa. arousing or satisfying ****** desire: an ****** dance. Subject to or marked by strong ****** desire. Of, relating to, or treating of ****** love; amatory:
Sep 27, 2015
Sep 27, 2015 at 5:07 PM UTC
And she loved him more than petrichor
and over-priced parfume. An over-
whelming wave of amatory prevailed
atop
the animosity. Loathing took a one-
eighty into lust. And all at once, feelings
that were entirely too familiar arose.
Aug 28, 2012
Aug 28, 2012 at 6:52 PM UTC
Formidable in flow and essence,
beauty is her power, cascading like her dark hair,
an invading army of one,
a natural seductress, at ease,
under the red banner of amour,
held out in front, she advances;
all impregnable forts willingly fall.
Her amatory machinations are
perfectly crafted.
She is a strategist,
when each of his senses advances,
towards her, she retreats,
when they frenetically chase her,
she stuns with her soft power,
the scent of this woman, makes him weak,
loose his bearing,
even when his senses are overpowered,
he poses like the victor of her passionate heart.
His every weakness she knows better than him,
but each moment covers up to make him reassured.
She is a colonizer,
glib talk, kind acts, a heart glittering like gold.
Oh how well she reigns over his heart!
She essays divide and rule,
each of his senses has
their way of seeking gratification from her.
Once he is perfectly under her control,
she transforms in to a whirlwind of love,
lifts him like a leaf,
and send him flying in pursuit,
of the high point,
consciousness can reach at the present state-
that feels like death, in a miniature form.
Apr 3, 2013
Apr 3, 2013 at 6:08 AM UTC
we are selcouth flower petals on plants that never considered their pots would be moved from their infinitesimal places on the windowsill
when the leaves brushed, a strange ebullience of euphoria erupted in misshapen fireworks displays
the radiance was blinding, but provided a pain that oddly pleasurable
vines amalgamate and coalesce still, twining together and combining with strangled whispers
amatory acts and emotions permeate the petrichor of distance, and the indefatigable thoughts continue strongly
Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 8:45 AM UTC
That soft symphony enchants my senses
Spiraling my emotions each out of control
Amatory temptations blossom ever more
With every second she caresses my soul
All of those words charmingly resounding
Written carefully from the outset of the nib
Impeccably sung by the heart of an Angel
Yet composed sweetly by a young cherub
Soft and yet graceful this Angel sings forth
Pure elegant tunes coming from her heart
A sacred seamstress of poetic perfection
Her voice, purity - a Heavenly work of art
Venerated forever, she sings melodiously
Using all of the notes I have come to love
Gazing at her singing I then realize slowly
This Angel is more than I could dream of
Celestially precious this Angel I have met
Angelic perfection upon me she bestows
May the spirit she bares always be eternal
As the seraphic heart that within her glows
Oct 25, 2010
Oct 25, 2010 at 2:56 PM UTC
Nature adorns her vacuums:
Eden, in lieu of Gardener or Keep, overdrives the breach;
garland wreaths, julep leaves, Clover carpets
the well-dint of the fleeing heel,
just as Vitality, from Lushness, deserts to humbling Humus.
I bargain that We will
be survived by teeming hosts of white Chrysanthemum.
Our grim miracle resembling, so, fish and loaves;
of Manna eked of Woe.
Staid amatory shall cater the craving of a brood;
from our tears rich elixir brewed,
our tender flanks yielding stew.
Scarcity is Her own aphrodisiac,
abused in company of more than two.
But sure as Man, worms lapse at their hour
and they, their own kind, must consume
giving back Space, where is room.
So, must we, our own Passion’s devour,
that made manifest they replenish their expanse,
as when a hand replenishes a glove--
it first breathes upon the absence of Absence.
Let us, then, dine. Let us then, Love…
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 6:27 PM UTC
im craving something
amatory
it takes over my being
if you help me so kindly
i will return the favor
Jul 17, 2013
Jul 17, 2013 at 11:56 PM UTC
I wish for the older times
When a bad boy could be good
Makes us their shrines,
Instead of the inspiration for morning wood,
Where fathers would discipline,
Their boys who treat a women as an amatory,
Thinking like a simpleton,
Only with their anatomy,
What happened to the lioness?
We’re only hurt by the succubus
As pain cometh
As we try tears suppress
Why must a good women
Suffer for the horrid
With the stained linen,
For a dream so torrid,
All we want is to be respected,
Witnessed pain,
Just to be rejected,
Nothing is perfected,
Nothing pure,
Only selected,
For deceitful lure,
Why don’t we earn the respect?
We so desperately work for?
Because a man has a defect,
Easier is the *****
May 31, 2015
May 31, 2015 at 10:54 AM UTC
She is there and you are there,
The mood and time seem right.
Be sure your heart is healthy enough!
Know what Science brings to light.
Kissing someone like you mean it
makes hearts race as passion soars.
The work hearts do in minutes
can be multiplied by four.
They say that life is shortened
by each amatory kiss.
We work our tickers overtime
When we osculate like this.
Note I’m not urging abstinence
As that would be a crime.
Just, when kissing like you mean it,
Make sure she’s worth your time.
Oct 28, 2014
Oct 28, 2014 at 7:28 AM UTC
i can feel you, you know,
lodged in there.
your weight is throwing me off balance,
is there nowhere else you can be?
my shadow is
heavy
with you.
look how it's hunching its shoulders.
maybe I could smoke you out
as I walk
through the park, cigarette in hand.
leave you caught in the branches
waiting in the dew for
some other poor soul,
some other poor fool
i could lock you out, shove you back to
where it's black and
dead.
cut off save the window
i leave open
in case
you get cold at
night
what do you think?
careful now,
you always were vicious.
your bite amatory
careful now, not so deep
if it runs too quick
i can't get it all down
my hands are shaking
so i've smudged it
here and there
but look how the words shine red.
Aug 25, 2015
Aug 25, 2015 at 5:56 PM UTC
This holographic poem
Was written by the personated tree
That reminds me of you
For although I may lack the valour
To emancipate your battered heart
I'm hoping this far-flung poem
Not to be mistaken for amatory
But rather a gift
From the stairs
That take comfort in the echo
Of your whispered secrets
This inessential concoction
Of words has been formed
By the stand-still bench
Trapped in the memory of you
This incongruous composition
Of cluttered abstractions
Was conjured up by the
Missing skin on your wrists
Sep 10, 2018
Sep 10, 2018 at 5:00 PM UTC
The postulate of this grief is ours. Every night in my wiry chain-mail suit, in my bed, where you have been crying for your lost hours. For a moment they came, in calamity and drudgery, to every travailing effect that pushed you down. Half of one day, you had it. You plucked your eyebrows, applied vigorously baby oil, lotion, to your pallid skin, and in two bats of your eyes, it had disappeared again. So sad you are. So sad you have been. They were only minor hours, wrapped in crimson bows, gentle happenings that you had barely grazed the tips of your fingernails into, and their symbolical sense, their nuance, wasn't perfected as you had wished just yet. And you tried so hard and it wasn't right yet. In the bed, with your fore-paws tucked neatly under the pillow, the bottom of your legs tucking their way up into your gut, tight as tight could be; I watched you sob in your maudlin ball, your sudorific tears, just peeling out of your eyes. I changed the pillow. I swapped it out. If only we could find your hours and give them back to you.But you cowered into a half-lump ball, your spirit curdling under your night-wept tears. And I too wanted your hours, for they were mine also. Our amatory hours, the fervid hours, our hours of luxe developing bliss. I felt the same urgency to recall them as you, but it was I who held to them, and clang to them that was losing my fingertip grasp on their minutes, and that is what frightened the both of us.
Apr 11, 2017
Apr 11, 2017 at 3:59 AM UTC
Lewd whisperings
Spoken upon
My warm body
He caresses my
Inner thigh with
Deaths punisher
Amatory
Thoughts flow through and
Out his sly mouth
Apr 27, 2016
Apr 27, 2016 at 10:39 AM UTC
Desirable.
Treasure comes sometimes excitement-boxed,
appealingly likeable, intriguingly
closed within secretive flame.
Yet to become more valuable it has to be locked
with an willing and amatory key by
a known and desirable name.
A stir of old fragrance has to arise when opened,
an erotogenic scent of endearment
meant for just two.
If a billet-doux has the allurement I had hoped
for, arrives via ether-line, carefully
discreet, I know it's from you.
Nov 6, 2016
Nov 6, 2016 at 12:00 AM UTC
your skin. the tapestry of your body. that guiding force between us, the forces. Our interdigitated hands, our sudorous hands, our midnight hands, and the hands of the hallway. Our amatory tryst, left palm on your cheek, right palm on your cheek- my lips wrapped around your forehead, coming up to the top of your hair-line. Deep, dark brown hair, thick locks of brunette strands. Yesterday, the perfervid and igneous morning hours spent drinking from your hot caldera. And I kowtowed my forehead against your pale soft skin, kissing circles around your naval, and reaching with extreme delicacy the nibs of my fingers up the sides of your rib cage, carefully avoiding your ******* When I came to your shoulders, I filled my hands with them and pulled us closer towards each other. I turned my head to face you and you strained to raise your head from the bed, your supine state, our sprawled bodies turned to neatly intertwine our appendages, to make a ball of skins. You reached forward to hold my cheeks in your hands, and bring the edges of your hands alongside the inches of my ears to bring me down on top of your lips, where you pursed them and sang to me, softly, your voice barely above a whisper, talking into my ear.
Apr 11, 2017
Apr 11, 2017 at 3:50 AM UTC
I **** at everything I have ever tried to do. I have no hobby other than sitting in the woods having solemn conversations with myself every day of the ******* week, aloud to the trees, talking about **** I would never actually say to people. Hypothetical discussions that I know I would never even have the chance to have with people because no one gives a **** to converse with me. Soft soliloquy's have overflowed the forest I spend my lonely time in. I have come to a realization that there is not a single person who has any interest in understanding the depths of my mind. I have friends and I know they care about me, but I am truly a lonely person who longs for both amatory and genuine love. I carry out empty and meaningless conversations with basically everyone who takes the time to approach me, but maybe it's because the one's I lust after never take a god ****** moment to look back at me. I have wished and attempted to rid the lamenting life in which I sustain. I admire nature's natural hue that vibrates within my soul. I wish I had someone to appreciate my immense thoughts. No one gives a **** about who I am beyond the words I utter to the crowd. I just ******* **** dude. I don't have close relationships with people because I am the only one who cares about what is caressing someone's inner-self. I cant help but whisper to death and desperately request my end. Then I realize what a dumb little girl I am. I covet **** that will never be more than a mere want. My life has succumbed to pure melancholy and lewd lust.
May 17, 2016
May 17, 2016 at 11:33 PM UTC
let's sleep on a bed of roses
with sheets of cinnamon.
Let's fall in love
and
love to make
shinny bright
purple
sin.
you can say
the word to me any day
to lend a hand or two
that has 78 crazy nail's
don't forget
to take my heart
with you.
trust these tears
ain't just amatory for all my alliteration
it's just a
wake-up-good-morning
early time celebration.
you can get purple
and forget it all
with me for free
for as long as love lives on
we will waste away
and forget every memory
and eat all the purple
til it's gone.
May 12, 2019
May 12, 2019 at 1:53 AM UTC
your skin. the tapestry of your body. that guiding force between us, the forces. Our interdigitated hands, our sudorous hands, our midnight hands, and the hands of the hallway. Our amatory tryst, left palm on your cheek, right palm on your cheek- my lips wrapped around your forehead, coming up to the top of your hair-line. Deep, dark brown hair, thick locks of brunette strands. Yesterday, the perfervid and igneous morning hours spent drinking from your hot caldera. And I kowtowed my forehead against your pale soft skin, kissing circles around your naval, and reaching with extreme delicacy the nibs of my fingers up the sides of your rib cage, carefully avoiding your ******* When I came to your shoulders, I filled my hands with them and pulled us closer towards each other. I turned my head to face you and you strained to raise your head from the bed, your supine state, our sprawled bodies turned to neatly intertwine our appendages, to make a ball of skins. You reached forward to hold my cheeks in your hands, and bring the edges of your hands alongside the inches of my ears to bring me down on top of your lips, where you pursed them and sang to me, softly, your voice barely above a whisper, talking into my ear.
Apr 11, 2017
Apr 11, 2017 at 3:52 AM UTC