Styles Jun 2016

Glistening with wetness,
fingers fitting in like Tetris.
Cream dripping on the mattress.
Pillow firming press against your clit,
gyrating to the thoughts of being licked.
Then sucked on like a twisted piece of licorice.
Pleasure leaking from your body through your hips
Desire holding your body captive like a hypnotist
Your skin crawling with desire screaming it's fix
Drowning your finger in a pool of your juices
Your hips thrust and twist,
and mind, lift and dip.
Our bodies working a full shift,
like we were built for each others fit.
You biting on the sheets,
I'm biting on your lip,
climax at the same time;
when our world eclipse-
our-space doesn't exist.
Off to another world,
a briefly escape to,
a pleasure abyss.

Megan McClain Nov 2011

you don't understand at all do you
not truly
you think
I'm a liar
that I still hold the knife
stabbed you in the back
[and in the heart]

kinda speechless
that you feel that way
think that way
believe it
untrustworthy? misleading?
false emotions?
can you not read?
here let me try again
maybe I can make it like braille
feel the words

it's like when the clouds stormy eyes
welled up and let fall the
tears of weekend rain
soggy, we laughed along with the thunder
and under our waterfall we let the windows
tell me I lied then

or picture if you will
standing by the tree I
always parked by
it was a starry night, but we didn't see it
we were too focused on our faces
why is it I was the only one
drowning in the sadness that overtook my eyes
shaking with each strained, choppy breath
clutching that gray shirt like a life jacket
do you think that was all
for show?

haven't you looked at
my collection of black and white
silly letters scribbled down as fast as possible
trying as hard as I can
to leave it all
on the paper
but it's as if each word I write
is a tattoo
slowly invading every part of my skin
it's sinking in, it's staining everything
do you think this agony I speak of
is fake?

if so
if I am that liar with the knife who
led you astray and "screwed you over"
let you down, kicked you around
if you can't seem to
open your eyes
and notice
just how much I love you
just how much I always have

then you don't deserve it

ill run miles for you when I know I only
have the strength for one
but don't you
watch me run
if you don't even grasp
that I stabbed myself in the back
led myself astray

you have a right to
hate the wound
but if you can't see
what I feel
one day
I will learn
that I have to let go
and I will

then all these silly letters
all for you

well. go ahead and throw them away
on that day
they will carry no life

Thy fingers make early flowers
of all things.
thy hair mostly the hours love:
a smoothness which
(though love be a day)
do not fear,we will go amaying.

thy whitest feet crisply are straying.
thy moist eyes are at kisses playing,
whose strangeness much
(though love be a day)
for which girl art thou flowers bringing?

To be thy lips is a sweet thing
and small.
Death,thee i call rich beyond wishing
if this thou catch,
else missing.
(though love be a day
and life be nothing,it shall not stop kissing).

Ashley Somebody May 2014

My fingers itch in so many ways—
They wish to touch the stars;
They long to play my soul's heartsong,
And strive to sketch my scars.

Sometimes they urge to clutch a knife
And hold it to my chest;
But most of all they long to hold my love—
The one who knows me best.
Deepening Wells Nov 2015

Hands delve deep in damp shadows
Even in slumber you drive my body insane
My body remembers you well
It's kept all memories of you so clear in it's senses
It misses you so dearly
I do miss you too, clearly
All this wetness is unnecessary
And this need for you, and only you, to myself is oh so scary
You whisper it's me you want to marry...
I woke up out the dream
Wondering what was wrong with me
I was warm and full of need
All I could think about is how much I wanted her to come pamper this pussy


I wish
my fingers
were his.
I don't think
about him,
my fingers do -
Touching me in places
I wish
only he did.

topacio Nov 2015

my fingers have become bored with
the quicksand of routine
they prefer to dance erotically over my typewriter
frolicking like naked ballerinas
over an ancient stage
spilling their secret thoughts
onto blank page,
after their day job
threaded together
over my lap,
or bending over to
reveal the contents
of my burlap sack

they have taken instead
to jumping over cracks
in the nothing of night
stifling the sound of silence
with assortments of clicks and clacks
punching in the perfect pitch of keys
to leave Beethoven blind
from this symphony of notes combined

and just like that at last
they have unfolded some rhyme
unachievable with ink and pencil,
without the stencil of time
dictating to work inside the lines

Iris Rebry Oct 2014

Long and thin,
Claw like,
Like spider's legs
They run
Faster and faster,
The talon-like nails tapping
The table,
Mimicking Beethoven's fifth symphony
We grasp
We clench
With white knuckles
a cold white
A hard white
An icy white
Holding onto the last life we have.
Without fingers,
We cannot hold each other's hands,
We cannot play music,
We cannot write our thoughts.
We are not human,
Without our

Meggghanq1 May 2014

1 eyes meet
2 a smile
3 bubbly conversation
4 hang out for a while
5 no sleeping we're on the phone
6 just when things seem reply
7 suddenly feel alone
8 cry
9 move on with time
10 another pair meet mine

Any ideas for titles?
wanjiwanji May 2015

Typing furiously
The websites you administrated
The cool stuff you created

Dancing graciously
The pictures you enhanced
The movies you edited

Plucking gentle
The guitar strings
The songs you sing

Moving delicately
The way you put your chopstick
The way you stroke your joystick

Approach hungrily
Touching the sacred spots
Knead, caress, massage, pinch, rub, enter.

Raven Nov 2014

You were supposed to be my forever
My heart ached for you
I was was blinded the moon
Never looking deeper into the clouds
My thoughts were birds
Pecking my fingers
Letting the ivory bone show through
I knew then
That it wasn't meant to be
That I was trying to feed my starving soul
With paper
And I cut to let my desires bleed out
Until a different pair of fingers
Brushed my skin.

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