"deflower" poems
*** me up on fire
Trigger my desire
Softly stroke me with caress
and lips
Lovely tongue this of mine
For it’s an explorer
Ready to deflower
Passages into your forest
*** me up into frenzy
Let me be a slave to your seduction
Torture me before eruption
Cunning
Lovely fingers these of mine
For they cannot see but feel
Soft skin below them
Slipping from dry to wet
Landscapes
*** me up until madness
Shivering Trembling Shaking
Bodies of ours, bursting in heat
And Love
Lovely body this of mine
For it is yours for pleasure
Yours to objectify
Yours to seek
Meek
*** me up
*** me
***
Mar 23, 2015
Mar 23, 2015 at 8:51 AM UTC
veiled behind the barbs of acacia
the river bathes in the lazy sun
she's a thousand years or more
but knocks my heart's door
like a flirtatious teen
*come deflower me
bare me in your poetry
wear me on your skin*
soon she would be lost to the sky
leaving on the banks echoes of her lust
i pause for a piece of her
before my dream turns to dust!
Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 1:00 AM UTC
I'm a rap game prodigy
irony like Socrates
that I could spit this philosophy
so flawlessly.
Unmatched like I'm scalene-
scaling my way to the top
so high like I'm a scaffolding
go ahead fold and scowl at me
and watch me cackle sarcastically-
while I tell the masses to become appealing
the apple of my eye is hip-hop do you feel me?
Massive attacks while the males become *****
and subject to the ways of misogyny
oh **** here we go again, this bothers me
what? equality?
Misuse the muse and move through your mind
makeshift mammals mimmicking media monkeys
no wonder half the world's a ******
like you when you see-
the way I spit so fluently
second language, feel the anguish
anger within me resentment
followed by residuals
the world is red and we're all cruel
consumed by corporate corruption
no function left to the fiction of fascism
so fasten your seat-belts and see me belt
way more than 16sixteens, it's sickening
how sick this flow can be so ambiguous
hip-hop is bigger than us-
it's luck, it's lust-
it's a **** you when there's a lack of trust-
it's **** it's love
it's touch, it's ****
it's drugs and grudges
and beef and *******
it's empowerment, cowards
and records strictly to deflower.
it's appreciation and admiration
and it at one point shook the entire nation-
i'm complacent at the placement of this prophecy
that hip-hop has engrained into me
I'm grateful for the grandfather's
and the sons and the daughters
the step-fathers and mother *******
cut throat music industry
if you don't **** with hip-hop you don't **** with me.
*****
Jul 22, 2015
Jul 22, 2015 at 11:31 AM UTC
**Are you happy now,
that I've figured out I was just a victim,
in a game of lies and lustful tension?**
My love, try to understand me when I say you torture me.
Your lips they beg for me to get you alone.
I want you to know it's the sway of your hips.
You taste so sweet cruel temptress.
I'm at your feet.
I can tell by the way you move that you want me to want you.
Are you happy now that I've figured out I was just a victim?!
In a game of lies and lustful tension?
Your lips they beg for me to get you alone.
I want you to know it's the sway of your hips.
You taste so sweet, cruel temptress.
I'm at your feet.
I can tell by the way you move that your want me to want you.
Are you happy now that I've figure out that I was just a victim?!
In a game of lies and lustful tension?
I can't believe I fell for you!
I was wrong, I am so confused.
A foolish mistake!
I gaze across the chasm that divides me from her, my prize.
And drink in her beauty.
I let the heady aroma of perfume riding on the hot wind saturate me.
I train my ears to the creaking of the bridge spamming the gap to her.
I throw caution into that wind of passion and continue down the path.
The path to the unknown.
I'm losing control and I want all of you.
I ache to swallow you.
I'm losing control, you're body screams for me, it's destroying me!
I can not resist the temptress of the night!
I'm coming for you!, I want you, I need you!
As the earth quakes I will deflower you!
Oh how my head swims, oh how my heart yearns!
I'm coming for you!
Our flesh will become one and we'll never speak of what we've become!
It's what you want. I'm gone! I'm gone! I'm gone!
So it seems that we were nothing.
I'm giving up!
Are you happy now that I've figured out that I was just a victim?!
In a game of lies and lustful tension?
I can't believe I fell for you!
I was wrong, I am so confused.
A foolish mistake.
Dec 11, 2013
Dec 11, 2013 at 7:14 PM UTC
I would have taken Medusa
Held her in my palms
Freezing you from delicate feet
To high strung arms
I would have knelt to Athena
With a smirk
To deflower a goddess
But you were too wise for that
My flirts would be accompanied with a smack
I would have carried Zeus upon my back
Walking 88,729 miles from the sun
In a race
Where being fifth place
Lets me know I've won
Yes i would have been your reason
Your brown leaves bringing about a new season
I would have brought with me
A silver bow
And golden lyre
Bringing about songs of Apollo
As embers from the fire
Hollow trees
The holes in my heart
I have filled with wine
Dionysus in true of his time
I would have called you mine
I would have loved your beauty
Touched your desires
As i admired
Aphrodite in blue
The color i witnessed
As i kissed you
I would have been clever
As i pulled the levers to your mind
Quick as lightening
To put out the thunders of our fighting
Yes I'd be your Hermes
And I would have named you ****
When your lust for youth was taken
I would have awakened as Aries
Prepared for war
When you had battles within
I would have been a god
To slay your demons
Jul 21, 2013
Jul 21, 2013 at 4:24 AM UTC
Cigarette to her cherry chap stick coated lips again.
She keeps on smoking them saying she doesn't care if she dies, yet she's discreetly afraid of death.
She knows she should probably get off her *** and get a job, but she'd rather listen to the same song over and over and day dream about ******
scenarios.
She'd rather stay up late at night writing and wake up at 3, majority of her day already wasted. Downing coffee and telling herself that she'd wake up
early one day to greet the sun and admire it's beauty but reality devoured her, and she's under her sheets sleeping with her breast pressed against
her cream colored silk sheets.
She fell asleep watching asmr videos, too much of a baby to try astral projection and her window is wide open, bugs with wings flying in her room but yet she doesn't care, she likes the feeling of the cold wind on her legs.
Oh, how she wishes she were in a field somewhere, holding hands with another male or a female that loves her back as much as she loves them. She wishes that whoever loves her would lift up her skirt and lick their fingers after they venture down her legs and inside the blooming flower so many individuals have been trying to deflower.
Rolling naked in the grass, smiling, laughing.
She wants to look deep into someones eyes, not uttering a word, just in silence smiling. She wants to tuck their hair behind their ear, she wants to feel the heat of another person up against her, or the simple pads of anothers fingers cupping her breast. She longs for someone to touch her, yet she's
afraid of being touched. She's afraid of men, she's afraid of many things.
Her picky self thinks she see's the good in people yet they expose their true
colors she were too blind to see. She's so naive. Letting her thoughts unravel her like a Christmas ribbon, placing acid tabs under her tongue, smoking more **** and drinking too much.
Anything to numb the fact that the ones she desire don't desire her, and the ones that want her she acknowledges, but simply picks up with the pile of clothes on her floor and shoves them in her drawers she keeps telling herself that she'd sort out.
An unorganized, mess.
Her room, her life. Everything.
Jul 3, 2014
Jul 3, 2014 at 2:08 AM UTC
****
The word’s as American as pie
Some like it
Some don’t
I always use it
I’m not even going to lie
But I always wonder...
What is the real meaning?
What does this word imply?
Most think this word does apply to:
Older women
That age like wine
That happen to have kids
That might be true
But I urge you to use your minds
Remember this word can be misconstrued
Remember before she became a ****
She was like a beautiful innocent flower
Somebody had to deflower her
Somebody had to be the bee
Afterwards, I don’t know why
But there’s an added beauty to her, you see
I can’t explain it
I guess I’ve been looking at it all wrong
God blessed you with another
While other brothers wanting to be your lover...
That’s a ****
Apr 25, 2017
Apr 25, 2017 at 12:40 AM UTC
The first ones they killed were the poets.
They crowned themselves, the sterile
And sexless acorns who fell from the felled
And split the air, writing with bark,
Would have us not desire experience
But describing trees. To the naked kings
The word is a wonder, a tool to be used
Like any other. With a forge, they called
An altar, they pitted heaven and made miners
Of the Gods. In high places they read
Their grounded works, sogged with rain
Water from a red wheelbarrow, they list
And bludgeon us with their hammered similes,
Scribe their poems, they are the painters of one
Colour and high priests of alchemy, turning
Salon into echelon. When the falcon stoops
They name him hawk. Standing **** flat-footed,
In bumpy skin, their honks go unanswered,
For they are no kin to the swan that glides
And sometimes they remember that,
The first ones they killed were the poets,
When the sky is etherized, prose made
Verse and their subjects yawn the great
Slaving maw. Steeped in stale erudition,
They man-scaped the garden, pulled out
The weeds and by their words, they decreed
That only grass should grow, in strident
Chorus they are ringing in the sheaves.
But their poems are only like poems.
The naked kings are clothed in word only.
In the thirsty kingdom, water spills
Stagnant from the stein and the droplets
Echo, "there's no there . . . there."
Incestuously they christened
Each other, one hundred years of virgins
Making love with a dead word
They know not of— Poet! Asters
Among the daisies, yet on the fields
Of praise, they shall deflower
Themselves and though they strut
And prance as stallions and mares,
You will know them by their brays.
Jun 7, 2014
Jun 7, 2014 at 2:26 PM UTC
High art briefly glimpsed be thou
Oh waving, wispish blossom bough
All pink your precious petals preen
Through nature's narrow window seen
Come April sun, thy tresses flush
For we to scent all in a rush
By May thy garlands too soon strewn
Do fade to pale below cold moon
From gaiety to frailty,
'Tis surely nature's cruelty
Why must the wind so urgently
Deflower the gentle blossom tree?
Jul 14, 2013
Jul 14, 2013 at 2:06 PM UTC
hot to the touch
like
glowing metal
little bikes
with
tiny pedals
i'll smell your rose
but
eat the petals
Apr 28, 2010
Apr 28, 2010 at 12:17 AM UTC
The first ones they killed were the poets.
They crowned themselves, the sterile
And sexless acorns who fell from the felled
And split the air, writing with bark,
Would have us not desire experience
But describing trees. To the naked kings
The word is a wonder, a tool to be used
Like any other. With a forge, they called
An altar, they pitted heaven and made miners
Of the Gods. In high places they read
Their grounded works, sogged with rain
Water from a red wheelbarrow, they list
And bludgeon us with their hammered similes,
Scribe their poems, they are the painters of one
Colour and high priests of alchemy, turning
Salon into echelon. When the falcon stoops
They name him hawk. Standing **** flat-footed,
In bumpy skin, their honks go unanswered,
For they are no kin to the swan that glides
And sometimes they remember that,
The first ones they killed were the poets,
When the sky is etherized, prose made
Verse and their subjects yawn the great
Slaving maw. Steeped in stale erudition,
They man-scaped the garden, pulled out
The weeds and by their words, they decreed
That only grass should grow, in strident
Chorus they are ringing in the sheaves.
But their poems are only like poems.
The naked kings are clothed in word only.
In the thirsty kingdom, water spills
Stagnant from the stein and the droplets
Echo, "there's no there . . . there."
Incestuously they christened
Each other, one hundred years of virgins
Making love with a dead word
They know not of— Poet! Asters
Among the daisies, yet on the fields
Of praise, they shall deflower
Themselves and though they strut
And prance as stallions and mares,
You will know them by their brays.
Dec 29, 2014
Dec 29, 2014 at 4:55 AM UTC
Bleeding sounds like
an exotic pleasure
only if you want to be
inside me
Aug 2, 2015
Aug 2, 2015 at 10:10 PM UTC
unlike the sound of falling rain
please don’t put me to sleep.
Dream delivers us to dream
you summoned me and I became
and instant *** ***
Followed me with your bedroom eyes
The boy is now a man
So what ***** men do?
they don't make love like a rooster
deflower me like a teenager
Dreams deliver us to dream
Follow my lead my young cougar
****** me or move over
from miles across the ocean I can feel your presence
your emerald eyes piercing hard... deep into my heart
your hands felt warmer than my duvet
my sad day is forgotten
I need you here my dark night,
along with that old familiar musk
Those sweet, sweet tears form in your eyes
which weaken me to the point of no return:
I watch as you blast your biceps:
while you whispered
“I love you, baby I need you,
here I am making peak upon peak
As you seduces me,
loving you is so easy
stimulation is good for my heart
Jul 4, 2014
Jul 4, 2014 at 5:10 PM UTC
The first ones they killed were the poets.
They crowned themselves, the sterile
And sexless acorns who fell from the felled
And split the air, writing with bark,
Would have us not desire experience
But describing trees. To the naked kings
The word is a wonder, a tool to be used
Like any other. With a forge, they called
An altar, they pitted heaven and made miners
Of the Gods. In high places they read
Their grounded works, sogged with rain
Water from a red wheelbarrow, they list
And bludgeon us with their hammered similes,
Scribe their poems, they are the painters of one
Colour and high priests of alchemy, turning
Salon into echelon. When the falcon stoops
They name him hawk. Standing **** flat-footed,
In bumpy skin, their honks go unanswered,
For they are no kin to the swan that glides
And sometimes they remember that,
The first ones they killed were the poets,
When the sky is etherized, prose made
Verse and their subjects yawn the great
Slaving maw. Steeped in stale erudition,
They man-scaped the garden, pulled out
The weeds and by their words, they decreed
That only grass should grow, in strident
Chorus they are ringing in the sheaves.
But their poems are only like poems.
The naked kings are clothed in word only.
In the thirsty kingdom, water spills
Stagnant from the stein and the droplets
Echo, "there's no there . . . there."
Incestuously they christened
Each other, one hundred years of virgins
Making love with a dead word
They know not of— Poet! Asters
Among the daisies, yet on the fields
Of praise, they shall deflower
Themselves and though they strut
And prance as stallions and mares,
You will know them by their brays.
May 15, 2015
May 15, 2015 at 2:40 PM UTC
I am the crab
the star on a slab.
dying,
you're frying tonight.
When you take me
you'll break me
and **** on my legs
devour me
deflower me.
I am a crab
the star on a slab.
Nov 9, 2013
Nov 9, 2013 at 6:10 PM UTC
The first ones they killed were the poets.
They crowned themselves, the sterile
And sexless acorns who fell from the felled
And split the air, writing with bark,
Would have us not desire experience
But describing trees. To the naked kings
The word is a wonder, a tool to be used
Like any other. With a forge, they called
An altar, they pitted heaven and made miners
Of the Gods. In high places they read
Their grounded works, sogged with rain
Water from a red wheelbarrow, they list
And bludgeon us with their hammered similes,
Scribe their poems, they are the painters of one
Colour and high priests of alchemy, turning
Salon into echelon. When the falcon stoops
They name him hawk. Standing **** flat-footed,
In bumpy skin, their honks go unanswered,
For they are no kin to the swan that glides
And sometimes they remember that,
The first ones they killed were the poets,
When the sky is etherized, prose made
Verse and their subjects yawn the great
Slaving maw. Steeped in stale erudition,
They man-scaped the garden, pulled out
The weeds and by their words, they decreed
That only grass should grow, in strident
Chorus they are ringing in the sheaves.
But their poems are only like poems.
The naked kings are clothed in word only.
In the thirsty kingdom, water spills
Stagnant from the stein and the droplets
Echo, "there's no there . . . there."
Incestuously they christened
Each other, one hundred years of virgins
Making love with a dead word
They know not of— Poet! Asters
Among the daisies, yet on the fields
Of praise, they shall deflower
Themselves and though they strut
And prance as stallions and mares,
You will know them by their brays.
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 10:17 PM UTC
zen manipulate electrons in various states\
migrate matter within range negate radiation\
indicate particles of ambiguous qualities heart\
rate acceding mean mug gimmickry deflower\
showman stalemate minute of the meeting\
bonsai tree focus attention on mental desertion\
of a post without permission leaving duty\
unconcerned possess contrite phase clout\
initiate conduction butterfly effect\
unconditional require dissertation variation
in the future scale systems of education\
consume clones dogmatic zone emphatic\
wormhole between widely abused encompass\
those sadly disturbing amused separate connect\
ions space time continuum chromium address\
headless tune ⍏ chyme divine combine celestial\
sign ⍏ bodies pine guide ⍏ shrine unleash\
out zipper little dipper stick
Oct 28, 2017
Oct 28, 2017 at 9:42 AM UTC
I open out from another’s dream. I think on the word deflower and the terrible way we use it. my female wife- this much is the same. I’ve been here before. nothing happens. she makes coffee with her phantom limbs in a story of yesterday’s news. this morning I’ll drive past my daughter’s daycare and my daughter will wave to a secret building. the heat that gets to others is god.
Jun 28, 2014
Jun 28, 2014 at 3:09 AM UTC
I shall write from a room of my own.
Kick tin at the cat on the roof
“You're one of my favorites”
He said.
And said.
Until he didn’t.
Naiveté’s intoxicating allure
Once duped
Breeds contempt
The mask slips.
I failed to see the hot plate of my goose cooked
For love of kindness
While kissing your ***
Eviscerations deflower nobler hearts to pay lessors’ intentions
Beyond pale of reason
Power’s addiction
I shall not suffer wisely
A fool indifferent
The secrets we keep safeguarding delusion for hope’s sake.
What we allow?
Continues.
A heart breaks
Until it quakes.
Then heart writes from a room of its own
Kicks tin at the cat on the roof.
©2015 Kelley White
Aug 1, 2015
Aug 1, 2015 at 11:07 AM UTC
Every motion on new white is like a needing to deflower
the page, my seed is released in syllables verse.
Its never a one night stand I take my time.
Even though I leave in the end there was meaning to
this meeting of you and I. tattoos of our encounter
were left on you, but we took pride in inked verse.
"Just because one is a flower sometimes we wilt,
Apr 10, 2017
Apr 10, 2017 at 2:58 PM UTC
Grow not
In the vases
They deflower us
They pick us
Let us grow
Roots touching
Mother earth
This soil
Is fertile
And vivid
in the rain
Aug 11, 2018
Aug 11, 2018 at 10:16 AM UTC
Love...
it took away
my sight for life
unheededly,
it rooted into
the eyeholes of mine
till it reached my core of life;
the heart
I already gifted to you.
You see,
I placed it upon
your very hands,
and, for now on, it is ready
to break out into blossom.
It waits for you to deflower it.
Sep 26, 2017
Sep 26, 2017 at 1:23 PM UTC
I wore a hat of flesh
blood stains a mess
I layed flat on your chest
Carving my name in your *******
You, a delicate flower
No reject girl that's sour
You, a banquet in heels
You whom I may devour
I watched you from my door
I watched you in the showers
Wishing you were more
Wishing you I may deflower
Like a *****
Yet your vestial innocence
Keeps me in ****** suspense
And as I act on it
Smiling as you crawl the floor
Jun 22, 2016
Jun 22, 2016 at 12:24 PM UTC
How do you not burn in the sunlight?
Are you immune or are you of another kind?
Do you walk the earth with 13 in your mind?
Is that flesh actually a veil hiding the demon inside?
Do you want to deflower virgins and leave them like a sheared sheep?
Does the stench of carcass give you ecstasy?
Do you walk through walls when no-one's around?
Do you vile and walk proud?
Can you get into my brain through my eyes?
Do you camouflage like a chameleon and make us swallow your lies?
Would you bleed if I ***** a needle into your skin?
Or will you drain out everything you had ****** in?
Are you on a seesaw ride with angels like the sun and the moon?
Can you breathe in the vacuum??
Would you come to me when I'm lonely and eat me alive??
WOULD YOU DIE IF I STAB YOUR HEART WITH A WOODEN KNIFE?????
Would you beg for mercy and cry in pain??
Would YOU promise to NEVER hurt ME again?
Aug 15, 2015
Aug 15, 2015 at 12:52 PM UTC