"fingertip" poems
It streams down eye to eye
from the unseen but the all seeing.
Far from the Mars far from the Neptune
skipping all the planets hanging in space
only on the cheek of earth, a drop of tear fell.
Every angel in the heavens' shore
has heard of this lore.
It’s timeless long mesmerising beautiful.
Far from the blue yonder sky
hunky dory is delighting to the eyes
the stunner is made to measure.
A tear in the corner of the eye
as if it's diagonally weighed down
with the 360-degree open looking sky.
As close as within a fingertip comes the Moon
still, a sea is ahead forever untouchable!
May 19, 2017
May 19, 2017 at 11:18 PM UTC
ground zero
i become aware of boundaries
i am a dog chasing cars
i sing your voicemail to sleep
there are no surgeon general warnings
to tell me that
*the objects in the mirror
are more depressed than they appear*
so how do i tell you
that there are parts of my life
that move slower
without you in them?
or that i look for you every day
in emails & unanswered calls
in the sunrises
i didn't choose to be awake to watch
that i sometimes still stare at doorways hoping you would walk through them
stage 1 you tell your new lover you've got a splinter and they pull the sound of your body falling asleep on mine out of your fingertip
stage 2 your new lover says something at dinner that makes you choke so they call 911 & the paramedics do the hymleich not knowing you would ***** our promises all over the the restaurant
stage 3 your new lover surprises you by cleaning the house & washes the shirt you kept next to the bed, not knowing it was the last thing you had that smelled like me
after
people always ask
what was loving her like?
after a really long silence
i just say
"it must be nice"
but i never say
it's watching paint dry
i never say
it's a window seat in hell
i don't tell anyone
about the dreams
where i am reading you
bedtime stories
each one is a different way you die
& every time i can never save you
dreams where what i think
are angels in my bedroom
are just homeless versions
of myself you never loved
i have dreams
where i pay someone to shoot me
just to see if you would cry
just to see
if you would cradle my body
i don't tell people
that loving you is like
playing piano
for someone who can't hear
that it's hitting repeat
on my favorite song
& forgetting the words
every time it starts over
that it's finding out
there's no milk after you already
poured yourself a bowl of cereal
it's getting locked in the dark
& being told to
look on the bright side
that loving you is like
being reminded of what it felt like
the first time
you accidentally let go
of a balloon as a child
it's drowning without the water
it's the feeling you get
when you start to dance
& the song ends
Mar 21, 2015
Mar 21, 2015 at 3:30 PM UTC
I am told that I should love my body,
and I should not be ashamed.
BUT the white, conservative men tell me otherwise, making me feel nothing but shame.
When did it become okay for a male's education to be more important than a woman's rights?
When did it become okay to sexualize a woman just because her shirt does not cover her rear end?
This is apparent in the things my teachers have told me.
"Your shirt must be fingertip length when wearing yoga pants," she said.
"Why?"
"Because the males that sit in the class might be too destracted to listen to my lecture."
We are treated like *** toys.
Us girls are used for nothing more than a mans pleasure, so they imply.
This is MY body, and no one else's.
I may do what I please,
and no one should have a problem with it.
I refuse to be sexualized and treated like we are living in the 1920s.
But I must conform and live in fear of my consequences.
**** culture is real,
and school's are promoting it.
Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 10:43 PM UTC
This is how it goes
your hands will be proxy for mine
my hands will be proxy for yours
your fingers my fingers
and my fingers yours
what I describe, you enact
told in detail so exact
Just to begin
I squeeze your *******
knead and pinch
tweak a ******
give it a tug
Stroke your tummy
work over your thighs
move up the inner
where skin is smooth
circle around, moving in
till soft contours are caressed
through pants that burn
to be removed
that pain you to wear
and I see in my mind
as you describe
the spreading, darkening patch
that fills the gusset
Now they're pulled down
removed quickly, completely
and you are revealed
spread, opened, shameless
Gentle fingertips tease
dance in circles, barely touching
yet the fire within grows
back and forth, round and round
dance the fingertips
as both reciprocate
with growing pace
and firmer touch
I hear you gasp down the line
and your breathing quickens
as you hear mine
as your excitement fuels mine
as mine fuels yours
in our feedback loop of lust
And I tell you how
my fingertip would give way
to tonguetip if I could
that I can taste you
in my imagination
fragrant, salty sweetness
with musky undertones
the tip of my tongue now circling
then flicking back and forth
beating out the rhythm
that you best harmonise with
bringing forth your moans
Then darting down, back
between wet, glistening folds
exploring each ridge and valley
working remorselessly
Breathing faster now
with animal grunts and moans
directions of pleasure gasped
breathless down the phone
As fingers again
take the lead
find the opening
slip readily within
probe, explore, ****
find that place
on your front wall
yes, just that spot
that's a little rougher
and feels sooo goood
Add a second finger
working and *******
licking and rubbing
moaning and gasping
barely intelligible now
...yess...more...yess...ohhh
are all that have meaning
Finger three joins one and two
then the pressure builds
demanding release
and shaking and thrusting
grows to shuddering
and...yes...yesss...sooo clooose
******* faster furiously
till we both explode
hearing each other's
voicing of our ecstasy
in language intelligible
only in this one context
Brains and voices return
as we bask in the afterglow
and what passes between us then
in those moments
is the deepest intimacy of all
Cynthia Pauline Jones 01/02/2014
Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 7:31 AM UTC
A musical trance seance under control by the hand of a shadow
A "Du hast" to a "Loco" To a "beautiful people"
A fraction of symphony, Sent by the gods of rock
Spiderweb rooms an corridor covered with the entrance to darkness set in place with danger light's, Strobe lights, an a fog machine set on auto
A haunted feel to a shack left cold an abandoned.
Equipped with superior beings and extended solo's of 6 string guitar's along with drum's and distorted bass guitar, setting the rhythm for our soul's,Feeding threw 4 large kickers.
This shadow was me
Venom
Decorated in crow face paint, Along with black attire to match my attitude
People came and went and came again
Supporting my and there craving for sublime sound
But one, the one, my goddess, my angel of death came to my dwelling, she came with a message
To indulge in my love
But also to give me a message of misery
To break me free of this chaotic world i was fixed in, with a bite to my fingertip the purified pressure was on
She wore the same colors as I
Only more dragged inline's
More pain, More beauty than she could see
I stared into her crystal corroded bloodshot eyes
I seen deep within herself
I saw pain, I saw hate for her fire, I saw hate from others
I had seen everything and nothing
I arose from my slumber to meet her in the darkness or mothers sleep
To give mother a great vision, a great dream and it was this
My angel of death, Meeting face to face, Eye to misery, Cure to disease, Beauty to ugly.
The words rolled off her tongue like the greatest embrace to a lover
Her words were sweet and seductive
Sprinkled with tears of a suicidal mind and a scarred wrist.
Then in a perfect moment are perfect tender love met with crying eyes and black lipstick.
Within that moment i ingested her misery
I took it and gave her what she deserved
Beauty
After the release of this lover's choice
We met vision and from there i seen the truth
I could never release her from this insanity
Only pamper or even embrace it
This timeless motion of misery will never stop ticking in my heart
Not till it expires!
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 10:33 AM UTC
“isn’t it crowded in california?” people always ask me
but you should have seen the way it looked from the sky
expanses of empty valleys
mountains of uninhabited ridges
cities that i could touch with my fingertip
much like the stars in the dark night air
and green as far as the eye could see
the silver snow that dotted the land
reminding us not to forget about it
never had i been so far above that i could notice it all
always stuck in my corner of the universe
and you should have felt what i felt
knowing that there are still
areas of my heart that have yet to be
realized and explored and populated
by anyone who is not you
even though at one point
you occupied the spaces
the cracks in my chest and lungs and limbs
so much that i thought you were a piece of me
but the seasons change and so do people
so my winter will be drastically different than my summer
when you climbed out of my life and into another’s
and hearts break and shrink and expand
to make room for different hearts
(mine’s currently in the process of getting rid of you)
Jan 8, 2015
Jan 8, 2015 at 12:13 AM UTC
melancholy eyes glaze over
the old honeycomb wallpaper pattern
and the mottled ceiling, paint peeling
noting every crevice in your new apartment
my consciousness dips in and out
of every nook and cranny, catching
fragments of the conversation.
you should always be the centre of attention.
i'd tried to entertain the notion, you'd noticed
my eyes in the ceiling and ushered me back
to the boring evening tea room with a gentle
fingertip or two pressed to my wrist.
do you wish you were somewhere else?
would you read my tea leaves and tell me,
what does the future hold for us?
Sep 25, 2017
Sep 25, 2017 at 2:48 PM UTC
I told her,"Cross your legs tightly, and start rocking back and forth. Be patient, it might take some time. Just, let it build up. Don't uncross'em and it will feel awesome. You should know yourself, what works best; rolling or rocking. Don't think about it, just relax. Use your muscles, the one(s) between your legs. Read in between the lines of everything thing I just said, then repeat it in your head, word-by-word, sign language on your lips. Your heart skips. Speeding up your heart's beat, note-to-self all over your sheets. Pace yourself, you can't cheat. First come, first serve; you can't beat. Just, listen to my voice, follow my lead. Take your time, no rush. Relax, match your breathing with mine. slow, down, take your time. Find your fingertip, with your tip, and grind. Pause, fast, forward, left, right; rewind. Now, do all if that, one more time. But first, lick your fingertip, so your ******** rise and shine, glitterish. Your index, just slide, inside you appendix, cause I penned it. Now, move your hips, like you are enjoying the ride. Here's a tip; curl your fingertip, like my tongue licked your upper lip; the thought alone should make you flip - ******* colored wet, that's my favorite. Just use your imagination; then go for it! If I was there, I would, make you, "Knock on Wood." Now do what Simon says, and you should be all good." Then she just hung up the phone. So, I guess she was good.
May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 3:44 AM UTC
*Hold a dew drop
On your fingertip
Many wonders
Reflected through
Light plays through
Kissing its core
See the landscape
Through it
A new perspective
Through a dew drop*
Apr 3, 2015
Apr 3, 2015 at 9:18 AM UTC
Someone stole the last piece of my turkey sandwich.
I bet the ************ put some pepper on it.
I hope it was pepper from that
***** *** pepper-shaker that is no longer see-through.
That ******* left me with one poker-chip pickle slice and
Those pieces of potato chips that you
Have to spear with a fingertip to eat.
That son-of-a-bitch!
I am sure he put mustard on that last piece of turkey sandwich;
In that delicate delicatessen squiggly pattern that is all in the wrist.
-And, speaking of wrist, that ******* forged my signature perfectly.
He even put another Lone Star bottle on my tab then
Neatly arranged the bottle caps next to four toothpicks.
*That suave ************
To honor him, when I get home
I am going to smoke his ****
**** his girlfriend and take his ****
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 1:59 AM UTC
M4W - Seeking young **** 17 year old to objectify and kick out of high school prom - must have womanly figure but only be a teenager - fingertip length dresses are OK - must be a child but still able to make me envision having *** with you - will be on the balcony ogling my daughter's friends and high-fiving other dads with my ****
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 12:19 AM UTC
When I was a child, the hallways stretched for miles
Mahogany and ceramic floors, polished bookcases
A mansion for fictional paperbacks
All neatly tucked under fluorescent lighting
The librarian would wait behind her desk
She reigned silent
besides the tapping of her fingertip to her glasses
I can’t remember her ever looking happy
Until the day I noticed the chirping
Sang somewhere between the realistic & historical fiction,
a bird cage sat next to the woman’s desk
It was an unexpected visit
I should have brought a better dressed book to check out
Mine was bound by yellowing pages
But I met the canary and heard her song
As I watched the librarian smile
Nov 8, 2017
Nov 8, 2017 at 8:32 PM UTC
TEACHING TIMOTHY TO READ
( for Maureen )
She is teaching Timothy
to read
even though she
can't read herself.
Tongue firmly in cheek
she traces the words
with a tiny fingertip
that knows the story
off by heart she
could read it in the dark.
She is "pretending reading."
She has my every nuance and pause
by rote
making great efforts
to teach Timothy
the puppy
but Timothy the puppy
is more interested in
the un-thrown stick.
Timothy the puppy thinks this reading lark is
strictly for the humans.
"Once..." she begins
in a Fairy Tale-ish voice.
Timothy the puppy
barks in acknowledgement.
"Throwthestickthrowthestick!"
Timothy the Puppy's mind thinks.
"...upon a time
a long long time
...ago!"
Timothy the puppy looks
adoringly at his little mistress
with such an immensity of love and
licks her finger as it
travels over the words
the story's journey.
"Oh you..!" she scolds
"...are not even paying attention!"
"It's no good...I give up!"
she frowns at the unhappy creature
throwing the book away
in a prissy hissy fit.
Timothy the puppy
full of the joys of
a dog's life
( it's the only life he knows )
chases the fluttering pages
that fly like an exotic bird
brings Hans Christian Anderson back
his mouth full of words.
Oct 16, 2018
Oct 16, 2018 at 5:42 PM UTC
Wishful thinking and a smattering
Freckles sprinkled across her cheek
A winking *** brought tight aloft
A slick line of buttery soft
Feathery light against my find
A curve brushed with a fingertip
My smile flipped slid away
Her mouth flashed a blurred flirt
She touched the flush
That brought the heat her lips flicked
Eyes closed with a bunched fist
Hair tangled as her fingers wove
Lips parted brushed a last kiss
Heat gone left with frayed thoughts
Wishful thinking as she slipped away
cc1210
Dec 20, 2010
Dec 20, 2010 at 4:16 PM UTC
We lay in bed, the only place I know him-
Wrapped in each other, legs a tangled heap-
Still sweaty, we are perpetually sweaty-
And he holds me with a tenderness I haven't seen before.
It is these times that we speak French-
During *** he speaks German, I do not know what he says-
But it sounds angry, and I like that.
Afterwards we speak French, the language of love-
and I tell him I'm in love-
but not with him.
I tell him I'm in love with a man thousands of miles away-
who cannot hold me.
And I trace the scars on his arm with my fingertip-
White lines that stand-out against the glistening black of his skin-
Which spell out a name that is not mine
and I know that he still loves her-
Because he tells me.
He pushes my hair behind my ear, and kisses me on the forehead.
It's a gentle kiss, not meant for me-
he knows I like it rough-
But I close my eyes and pretend the lips belong to someone else.
We pull eachother closer.
Dec 24, 2013
Dec 24, 2013 at 12:31 AM UTC
"Run your pulse across my tongue
Pour your love into me
I thirst for you"......
Veils of gossamer silk
Spin in shades of night
Submissive acquiescence
Smoulders bare feet ...
Iridescence dances in captivated eyes,
Lips full
Releasing,
Breath
Licking the shimmer-gleam,
Anointing skin
Ravishing enchantment...
He trembles her heat
Scorching flesh wrapped bone;
Joining fantasies played against silky thighs
Arousing,
Capturing her allure;
Seductively
Manipulating the tenderness of her need ...
Night drips beauty from a silvern moon,
Nakedness meets
Open desire
Firm against softness
His lips seeking,
Tasting
Vanilla tears
Melting on his tongue like snowflakes
Touching passion's fire...
Fingertip moments
Pulsing rhythms;
Aching depths craving
Urgency
Sinking into moist folds
Undulating movements
Swollen, locked around a flowing pearl...
Mesmerising connections sparkle,
Thrusts
Gasp breathlessly,
Arching into body quivers;
Nails claw the spine
Symbolic...
She is
Weakness to his will........
Jan 19, 2013
Jan 19, 2013 at 4:18 PM UTC
this swifter's grift -
lifting loosely
fitted accoutrement
lourden fruit
carelessly held
silkened, gimlet lit
shamelessly rivened
to a paler shade
of need.
solitude's
enchanting seed
may confer
a grander banquet’s call
but, this tug of
grandiloquent oblige
and politesse . . .
master and slave consort
black and scarlet
swift of tongue and fingertip
unbound so neatly
and leather blind
tell me muse of the anger flesh on fire
is there really dignity in defeat
that eludes the victor
tell me muse of the truth in nature
ill-graced tail-lamp broken
is destiny all ways ordained in contradiction
tell me muse do hearts all times submit
to the beacon call
shyness long forgotten
narrative so harshly written
as ne'er before
with an insistence
ageless yearnings bellow
as but glazened shadow
if reason sleeps
there will be no learning
no refuge
only to each
for their crimes
a four-chambered riddle
All Rights Reserved
James R. Morse, NYC 2013.
Sep 12, 2013
Sep 12, 2013 at 7:05 PM UTC
A gentle caress of the cheek
A shaky fingertip on the chin
The memories come and go in waves,
but hit with the force of a tsunami flood,
crashing down the barriers I so carelessly built up after you left.
A touch of my neck
sends shivers down my spine,
as I remember your lips brushing gentle skin
exhaling my name into the dark.
Twisted in sheets, tangled in blankets
Racing hands and quick breath
those nights come to me quick,
flashing images through my mind.
Glow of your eyes - you loved me.
Smiles on your face - you meant it.
Pleasure in your body - you showed me.
Grasp of your hand - you watched me laugh.
I would say I want this nostalgia to stop,
but to be quite honest-
I'm addicted to reminiscing on these thoughts.
The fear of forgetting you
presses hard on all sides
suffocating my mind with images of us.
Jan 7, 2014
Jan 7, 2014 at 6:31 PM UTC
...sitting here
across from me again
(in my mind's wishful eye),
sipping coffee together,
light talk, some danish,
and an omelette, too
(i made it the way you like it,
just for you),
happy to be here
as the flaming
sunstreak rise lights up
the tender tips of the flowers
outside the window,
i fingertip-kiss your lips,
as the morning bird
breaks into song,
waking up the world,
whilst you and i
carry on
and your eyes
reflect the new day's skies,
it's nice, it's nice
to see you...
Sep 7, 2010
Sep 7, 2010 at 2:37 AM UTC
i.
Society keepeth their amour' in a box
Hidden, unrevealed, secretive, locked;
Me and mine Jane, shalt be open as a flame,
As on mine knee's I peck upon her toe's;
Again and again.
ii.
In the midday hour's when her back and neck get's sore
Mine fingertip's shalt caresseth her epidermis;
With sultry emollient, from her head to her feet.
I rubbeth in deep, as tis she shalt falleth asleep
As the best massage she's ever hadst,
Put's her into a trance in mine hold:
In peace she slumbereth,
Into a romantic kingdom
Stacked with ourn affection's gold.
iii.
Over an hour-plus thirty minute's,
Mine sweaty Palm's art tender;
Though it was all worth it
To mine queen mine soul surrendered;
Entering in her shuteye, I entered in locking ourn leg's, head's, arm's: closely cuddling-pillow's feathered.
Here at this moment, nothing else in the world mattered.
©Brandon Nagley
©Earl Jane Nagley dedication ( Filipino rose)
©Lonesome poet's poetry
Nov 7, 2015
Nov 7, 2015 at 8:00 PM UTC
Stormy rain, stormy Eyes.
Look at me.
Wish you had of died.
A fairground trick, you never rang the hoop around.
The fairground ride, you could see the nuts and bolts.
But still you whooped with me.
There was a time,
at the beginning of the line,
where you begged me for a kiss,
for a moment of bliss,
before the fear set in;
before the terror unfolded,
and i was screaming and opening my eyes,
and looking forward,
and never at you.
I smiled for the camera,
to capture the moment,
of unequivocal bliss, of falling and riding high again.
Still you swore you would hold my hand,
for whatever we had planned,
and when i let go,
you looked at those lines,
and realised,
boy, you're in this world alone,
to ride the ride,
with me by your side,
but alone in your seat;
So what is it?
Ultimate bliss,
or,
terror of self-defeat?
Just remember,
I was there,
just a hairtip away,
just a fingertip, from your fray,
when you start to unravel,
from me.
As we swoop,
as we fold,
as we argue through your childhood behaviour,
untold.
Line up, line up.
The ride is free.
The journey is finali-ty
when you are riding,
with me.
Jan 9, 2014
Jan 9, 2014 at 8:35 PM UTC
Her gaze meets mine—where winter waits between breaths,
Firelight shadows slowly lick our chilled skin.
A fingertip hovers, trembling near lips—undressed,
Desire coils like a cat, silent—waiting to begin.
Firelight shadows slowly lick our chilled skin.
Explorers, bare as breath, past our door, trembling, new.
Desire coils like a cat, silent—waiting to begin.
Million eyes, ****** stars discover honey drops—our dew.
Explorers, bare as breath, past our door, trembling, new.
We wade, as dawn drips milk between thighs—our cool secret stream.
Million eyes, ****** stars discover honey drops—our dew.
Warm rain, our embrace, drips—carved in stone, floats, a dream.
We wade, as dawn drips milk between thighs—our cool secret stream.
******* glow with sweat, leaves cling as acorns—past loves a dying star.
Warm rain, our embrace, drips—carved in stone, floats, a dream.
Each moan, a vision, an old love’s scent, each kiss—our final shore.
******* glow with sweat, leaves cling as acorns—past loves a dying star.
Her gaze meets mine—where winter waits between breaths.
Each moan, a vision, an old love’s scent, each kiss—our final shore.
A fingertip hovers, trembling near lips—undressed.
Jul 27, 2025
Jul 27, 2025 at 6:00 PM UTC
FINGERTIP
( for Shyam )
as a little child
I travelled
up & down the Ganges
its sister Yamuna..her brother Brahmaputra
their names
upon my tongue
my voice calling them
into being
awed by their sound
mantras for my mind
riding their waters
in the little ship
of a
fingertip
traveling only as a child
can
now
here I am
still that child
become this man
still offering
my devotion
from the Dev Bhoomi I come
tracing Shiva's hair
from here to there
"Ganga Ma...Ganga Ma!" I cry
herding the river
from Gaumukh
watching her
spread her fan
into the Bay of Bengal and beyond
still sailing the same old
fingertip ship
a bit old and
battered now
soon I will stand
on Indian soil
call all my childhood rivers
to me
bow as they
flow into me
their names
upon my tongue
calling upon
all the Gods to come
as
one
"OM!"
Jan 24, 2016
Jan 24, 2016 at 8:30 PM UTC
I want to know what's on your mind, share with me your intimate time,
What turns you on and makes you tick,
What you really don't like what makes you sick,
Give me knowledge of your hopes and dreams,
Share with me what brings you to scream,
Make me know why you get mad,
Teach me the things that most make you glad,
I want to hold you close to me,
Your intimate space I'd love to see,
Wel hold each other and share embrace,
Your lips of honey I'd love to taste,
The subtle things that keep you calm,
I'd like to hold them in my palm,
To touch your cheek with my fingertip,
Your skin of gold I'd take a dip,
Run my fingers through your hair,
While in your eyes I deeply stare,
The trust and pleasure we would share,
There's nothing like this that would compare,
Innocence and purity when I'm with you,
Your hearts deepest pleasure il vow to persue.
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 10:43 PM UTC
"...Tell me, for Love's sake, what is that flame which burns in my heart and devours my strength and dissolves my will? What are those hidden soft and rough hands that grasp any soul; what is that wine mixed of bitter joy and sweet pain that suffuses my heart? What are those wings that hover over my pillow in the silence of Night, and keep me awake,watching no one knows what? What is the invisible thing I stare at, the incomprehensible thing that I ponder, the feeling that cannot be sensed? In my sights is a grief more beautiful than the echo of laughter and more rapturous than joy. Why do I surrender myself to an unknown power that slays me and revives me until Dawn rises and fills my chamber with its light? Phantoms of wakefulness tremble between my seared eyelids, and shadows of dreams hover over my stony bed. What is that which we call Love? Tell me, what is that secret hidden within the ages yet which permeates all consciousness? What is this consciousness that is at once origin and result of everything? What is this vigil that fashions from Life and Death a dream, stranger than Life and deeper than Death? Tell me, friends, is there one among you who would not awake from the slumber of Life if love touched his soul with its fingertip?"
Sep 2, 2017
Sep 2, 2017 at 4:37 PM UTC