"incalescent" poems - Hello Poetry

My head swoons upon exhalation an expectation of exhilaration A sharp burst of pleasure, a tingling measure of raw and unrefined lust Dopamine courses through our brains, as pupils dilate, we can’t wait Scrabbling like starved mongrels, tearing at each others clothes Lips locked our tongues meet in open mouthed passion Uninhibited, unbridled, no holds barred Mouthing lobes and unguarded necks, teasing flesh with the brush of teeth Vulnerable yet willing, surrendered to the inevitability of need Fingers tracing gently across trembling skin, fumbling therein Mounds of ample pink flesh, in firm press Bodies arched and contorted, twisted together as natures root Incalescent fervour, further ardour, lost in a single moment No world, just boy and girl, dancing the dance of desire Swaying like willows, propped amongst pillows, hands clasped as tempo completes Enbosomed things slow, grinding to a halt, heavy breathed and spent Basking in the afterglow of satisfaction..........life could not be so sweet

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Apr 5, 2014

Apr 5, 2014 at 10:35 AM UTC

mr-bigglesworth

The Making of Love

My head swoons upon exhalation an expectation of exhilaration A sharp burst of pleasure, a tingling measure of raw and unrefined lust Dopamine courses through our brains, as pupils dilate, we can’t wait Scrabbling like starved mongrels, tearing at each others clothes Lips locked our tongues meet in open mouthed passion Uninhibited, unbridled, no holds barred Mouthing lobes and unguarded necks, teasing flesh with the brush of teeth Vulnerable yet willing, surrendered to the inevitability of need Fingers tracing gently across trembling skin, fumbling therein Mounds of ample pink flesh, in firm press Bodies arched and contorted, twisted together as natures root Incalescent fervour, further ardour, lost in a single moment No world, just boy and girl, dancing the dance of desire Swaying like willows, propped amongst pillows, hands clasped as tempo completes Enbosomed things slow, grinding to a halt, heavy breathed and spent Basking in the afterglow of satisfaction..........life could not be so sweet

16

A game A joust Shouting voices Piercing my ears Ringing Incalescent rage Nimbus darkness Consuming the soul What is the point? What is it's significance? All for what? Hubris? Pride is the impetus we are too ashamed to admit Admit that it is the cause of Quarrel

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Jun 19, 2014

Jun 19, 2014 at 4:27 AM UTC

natalie-ryan

Quarrel

A game A joust Shouting voices Piercing my ears Ringing Incalescent rage Nimbus darkness Consuming the soul What is the point? What is it's significance? All for what? Hubris? Pride is the impetus we are too ashamed to admit Admit that it is the cause of Quarrel

15

Fascination in obscure words or sensations in my deep states, seemingly insecure or even uncomfortable concepts to some yet holding a great enigmatic eloquence in elegance when looked at through a different prism of the crystal. I could even say that my Deep Stateness is of the copper-dark radiating scarlet paired with lilac, inky blue and grey mist at the Lighthouse Keeper’s shift when all stories come alive and what’s seemingly real turns feeble. An example word of such would be: “Incalescent” or “Evanescent”. It holds that feeling independently from its cognitively given definition. Astrality, to me, if you’d like to ask as a help for placing it, may be most probably the aforesaid Deep Stateness married with the presence of My Lover, otherworldly consciences without words (as if I were some astral being embodied and aware of its misbelonging to this world and my moderated female body) and my Fernweh for my Home. It’s also that Phronemophiling, like a thing greater than getting high on drugs. It is also my endearment at my antics or getting Philosophy in me and what I read as lovely, playing naked on guitar at night alone in silent dark with trust in my eyes without glasses, looking at stars bravely without this handicap device and lonely daring the world to tell me I cannot see them without it on, using the strong reverberating of my voice so pulsing out loud with sureness and passion, or fascinating at my tears for more than two days whilst in commotion after reading deeply “The Dead Poets Society”. Surely you must have felt it one way or another some time.

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Aug 18, 2020

Aug 18, 2020 at 2:42 PM UTC

DanRo

Tell Me of Otherworld

Fascination in obscure words or sensations in my deep states, seemingly insecure or even uncomfortable concepts to some yet holding a great enigmatic eloquence in elegance when looked at through a different prism of the crystal. I could even say that my Deep Stateness is of the copper-dark radiating scarlet paired with lilac, inky blue and grey mist at the Lighthouse Keeper’s shift when all stories come alive and what’s seemingly real turns feeble. An example word of such would be: “Incalescent” or “Evanescent”. It holds that feeling independently from its cognitively given definition. Astrality, to me, if you’d like to ask as a help for placing it, may be most probably the aforesaid Deep Stateness married with the presence of My Lover, otherworldly consciences without words (as if I were some astral being embodied and aware of its misbelonging to this world and my moderated female body) and my Fernweh for my Home. It’s also that Phronemophiling, like a thing greater than getting high on drugs. It is also my endearment at my antics or getting Philosophy in me and what I read as lovely, playing naked on guitar at night alone in silent dark with trust in my eyes without glasses, looking at stars bravely without this handicap device and lonely daring the world to tell me I cannot see them without it on, using the strong reverberating of my voice so pulsing out loud with sureness and passion, or fascinating at my tears for more than two days whilst in commotion after reading deeply “The Dead Poets Society”. Surely you must have felt it one way or another some time.

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