"innuendos" poems
Showers make me wet
Shoes get me going
Heaters make everything hotter
And as soon as you've left
Everything is right
Jun 24, 2015
Jun 24, 2015 at 9:43 PM UTC
Copulation of the minds...
as word play
leads innuendos to fornicate
upon the poets tongue...
unrestrained
his fingers give voice to wanton
carnal desires
laying the reader bare
to writhe
helplessly beneath his hands
with ink stained kisses
he forces
words into their mouths
a breathless sigh
resonating his ache to be heard
as he stands naked before them
offering himself
to their voyeuristic gaze
before taking them upon the sheets
in punctuated passionate
embraces
leading them toward the ******
they so
cried out for...
Jesus I'm Good.
~<3~
Feb 28, 2013
Feb 28, 2013 at 10:41 PM UTC
Soft flirtations,
And obvious innuendos,
Gentle murmurs of empty sweet-nothings.
The rising excitement,
Perhaps a bit of nausea,
To see you.
I know quite well,
What will happen when,
My plane touches down in your state.
An odd anticipation.
May 21, 2015
May 21, 2015 at 10:21 AM UTC
Innuendo
All those softly spoken innuendos
Slipped into conversation
To express what you can’t say plainly
All these whispered innuendos
Helped him speak words
Painfully
Filling the night air
Breaking the silence
A breath, a heartbeat
She couldn’t bear
To let him see her cry
And as he turned
The first tear fell
Not as strong as you’d think
Not as brave as you’d think
Innuendos have formed a façade
And so they meet again
To whispers, murmurs
Those softly spoken words
Without the armor
Amore was weak
So for the first time
The last tear fell
A boy and a girl
Back facing back
And they knew
Not to turn around
Closure encompassing
Growing distances
Do or die
She never looked back
May 19, 2010
May 19, 2010 at 10:11 AM UTC
Women don’t want hook-ups.
No matter how much she says she does,
no matter how much she enjoys the ***
no matter how much she is good at it,
women want relationships.
Even the one you discovered has slept with all of your friends.
And the one who relies on her sexuality because she does not
believe in herself enough
to be anything other than the crazy chick
who will let you violate her in ways no one else will.
Even the one who pretends she does not love you but does
“friends with benefits” because it’s the only way to get
the friend part out of you.
Even the one you think is beautiful but intimidating because
her history of pain has created an aura of independence and mystery.
Even the one you think is ugly and you talk **** about to your friends
after you **** her.
So if you are wondering why your game of innuendos
and “just one time let’s use our drunkenness as an excuse”
always seems to backfire,
it’s because in her heart of hearts
in her quiet, truthful and lonely places
where she starts to believe she is something of beauty,
a woman of intelligence,
creativity and value
and that yeah, she is capable love,
women don’t want hook-ups.
Aug 20, 2013
Aug 20, 2013 at 3:00 PM UTC
a sensual curve
to the facade
- infinite femininity -
arched above
rounded windows
- innuendos art of love -
deco of desire
climbing higher
- echoing fire -
...descending spiral stairway
home to shanty on the bay.
r ~ 10/9/14
Oct 9, 2014
Oct 9, 2014 at 9:40 PM UTC
Axiom does not lie upon the
plush bed of the words I've said.
It doesn't flourish under influence of the
flowery texts I've written.
Axiom does not fully exist behind the
actions I've deliberately displayed.
It is ingrained within the subtle folds,
inexplicable nuances
and playful innuendos.
It is present in the lull you find in between
fleeting memories and faltering heartbeats.
It is scored into the unlyricised songs,
sung when our breaths do meet.
It's in the unplanned gazes that
stray into nothingness
only to be caught by yours.
It's evident in the void... The silence we've shared
without ever feeling awkward.
Axiom...
Is the fall that you had anticipated
only after having taken the leap.
It's that feeling of not knowing where the bottom is
but yet still certain that you are safe.
Axiom is...
My unseen heart as it beats hard
for none other than you.
Apr 22, 2016
Apr 22, 2016 at 10:17 AM UTC
Violent Films
Pretty dresses
Whiskey or ***
Getting my hair done
Smelling Pretty and
Video Games
Smoking cigars
Crying to sad movies
Black Coffee
Fruit Smoothies
Gang Member Memoirs
Cheesy Romance Novels
Steak, Burgers, Caviar, French cheese
Hell yeah
I'll hit you
and talk ****
I'll be an *******
and a *****
on a deserved occasion
Laugh at ****** innuendos
and giggle about boys
Love Variety
Spice of life
Underground rap
Classic Rock
Jazz
Lounge
Metal
Country
Indie
Folk
I'll take it all
and more
Dancing, Romance
Knives, Guns
I'll write and draw
and go for a degree in Criminal Justice
Getting giddy over make-up, purses, shoes!
I can drip with sarcasm whenever I choose
What's to lose?
My best friend's a girl
The rest are just boys
I like to talk about feelings
I hate to cuddle
Many faces
all true
What's it to you?
Maybe, I'm too much
Maybe, Just enough
Goldilocks
But **** Stereotypes
Girls will be girls
Walking Contradictions
Put that on your Popsicle
and **** it
World
May 18, 2010
May 18, 2010 at 5:50 AM UTC
He smelt like smoke
as he leaned away from me,
texting himself with my phone.
We left the campfire outside,
in our shoes by the door
our socks overlapped in a tangle of limbs.
In that leftover guest room,
on the bottom bunk of the microwaved bed,
I remembered why I thought I knew what love was.
He was tired and needed a nap,
I was restless and cold.
Trapped inside because of violent temperate rainstorms.
This boy owed me stubbed toes,
thorn ****** through my jeans,
nicknames and rubber soles.
This was the boy who had always smelt of smoke,
who knocked over dead trees for me,
who lied about being able to rock climb.
This was the boy who went swimming in the ocean
before summer had properly began
when it was still much too chilly.
I taught him a new card game,
he beat me at badminton.
We played capture the flag and threw pinecones.
We sold cookies on the side of the road,
ate dusty blackberries,
traded innuendos and bad jokes.
This was sea-urchin boy,
slug boy,
the boy with the bird's nest hair.
This boy grew taller,
dropped his voice like a used bus pass,
looked past the top of my head.
He laughed when i stepped in a mud puddle,
dared me to walk in bare feet.
This boy suddenly went mountain biking.
I talked extra loud, in hopes that he would overhear me,
offered him rootbeer straight from the can.
Ate pretzels and learned to read his mind.
We shared our childhoods like penny candies,
switching all the peach ones for strawberry.
we agreed these are the best years of our lives.
He layed beside me, underneath as many covers as we could find,
taking up too much space and he knew it.
my cartoon boy.
My hand-drawn boy,
With smoke coming out of his ears
moved away.
We didn't talk again
Jun 19, 2013
Jun 19, 2013 at 12:39 AM UTC
So you think you are a master of techniques of persuasion?
You shallow pips-squeak, mediocrity is your mastery
the obsequious hoi polloi that surround you are the pitiable averageness of conciliation
Sophistry and subterfuge are your game of compromised facts
syllogistic arithmetic conceptualizing doesn't make anything so
your addition is flawed by your bungled bombast of banality and guile
fortunately for you, your crowd will never study logic
fortunately for you semi-literacy is de rigueur
You pompous swollen grandiose mass of hyperbolic gas
Fear is what you offer, lies are what you sell
your rhetorical flourish is as the stench of a waste dump
fetid, corpulent, fallow and febrile
toxic
half-truths, innuendos, ambiguities, conjecture and asinine aspersions comprise your specious fare,
fostering rumours, manipulating facts, you are the purported Biblical brood of vipers so extensively reviled against
Your relevancy is attributable to the dull stupidity so profusely prevalent today
Your "success" is the stuff of taint and treachery
You'll probably choke to death on a stuck piece of poorly masticated flesh
so appropriate and befitting the demise of a professional liar
Apr 28, 2013
Apr 28, 2013 at 12:44 AM UTC
Let's face it
its more ******** warfare
culturally they are used to faking it
as thimbles and chipolatas in ninety seconds
do not reach first base much less seeing stars on cloud nine
hence they woke and fake the reality they chose be it feel or fright
in woke solidarity against frustrations they cloned their made-up foe
what better than sturdy shining Mandingo loaded and tied up
there for the having to your heart's content
presented to you the untamed beast
the wild moor tooled hot and ready
raw animalistic unfettered passion
rock hard we can name him Rocky
that goer that delivers every time
the one that is all your men aren't
and can never be cause he's gifted
sleek like dolphin in rhythmic glide
tasty like fresh clean mushroom
Arabian stallion if ever there's one
with absolute pedigree and class
take a break from the mediocre
from the wham bangs no can dos
from the floppy quick-draws saps
imagine the dark horse with the most
in smooth soft pink leathery velvet
tis your secret your guilty pleasure
tis the obsession you made into a war
the fantasy that plays in your heads
tis behind fervours that haunts you
that you so well disguise in hatred
telling metaphors slip out Freud
hold him down, grind him hard
wear him out, let's wreck him so
the sado masochistic 'punishing him'
give him a hard time, it all says a lot
you twist innocent sentences into
****** innuendos and innocent actions
are falsely given ****** meanings
as morn noon and night you toil
you troll and agitate for attention
yes you twist turn bite and nibble
in Freudian throes you talk love
you glaze unrequited love relentlessly
you close your eyes and dream sweet pain
yeah! get real, its no psyche warfare
its a flutters obsession, it's the classic '
"The lady doth protest too much, methinks."
its how you float your boats and and get yer thrills
you better face it you're all addicted
It's an ******** War-fare and you all know so.....
Jun 22, 2021
Jun 22, 2021 at 7:11 AM UTC
For you to notice me
If you only knew
I mainly want to talk, but my human side lets off.
Images of my rough hands around your soft waist to let our souls mix and seep when our eyes meet.
To sweet delight of soft serve with every curve I follow
I only want to talk
Exchange another note of human emotions and social interactions
See we lack the capacity to physically understand
And leading you off isn't in my objective
I just get stiff with kisses on your neck
I can almost feel your hands on my back
Your legs tighten around my thighs
Endorphins rush when your back curves and your chest touches mine
Temperatures rise, I can see all the signs
I still want to talk
Your interests interest me
Lets take a walk
If we stand still I'll examine your body
My heart will go lively
With electronic sparks
I only want to talk
But when you laugh I get this shiver
A cold quivering
That you wouldn't notice
In an instance we are on the grass with a breeze blowing your hair
And I'm grabbing your ***
I don't want to move too fast
You then reach for me
A heavenly breath runs across my neck
I almost turn wild
A stone to the ocean
Oh how opposites attract
I just want to talk
However clever I might be how has your day been
Lets get deeper mentally
I'll exchange ****** innuendos lets see if you notice
I'm just a man in not trying to be a pervert
Then you smile and it takes awhile to adjust
My imagination turns rough
I envision us at a picnic a diamond in the rough
Shoes off and your happy
So I am too
You make to first move
Now I am excited and don't know what to do
You look at me
The eye contact from green to brown
We stare then our lips touch
Our eyes close to love the moment
As these can't be seen
Emotions run rampant
And I suckle on your teet
But I just want to talk
Nov 14, 2014
Nov 14, 2014 at 4:31 AM UTC
Dressed-up words
misguide our naked thoughts
far more than naked thoughts
influence the use of dressed-up words.
Words can be a narcissistic cover-up
or
masks expressing secondary emotions,
even if the wordsmith
is begging to be
needed.
If one desires to communicate
with a purer intent,
to cut through language's sinew
of misinterpretation,
and into truth's marrow,
such communication can happen
within wordless silence
where blooms
touch
waves
salt
sweat
true north,
pantings
in the cold;
the swelling heat
of iron ignition.
When my tongue dissolves the words,
laps up innuendos
and syntax errors of reality
from in-between
the honeyed surface
of language,
over-stimulation
spins me deliriously.
If
this
needs a pause,
a breath to breathe,
to feel the distance,
our wavelengths
will never cease
to communicate.
September 12th, 2015
Sep 13, 2015
Sep 13, 2015 at 3:35 PM UTC
Back in my teenage college years
I was told about “Autistic kids”
Who lived in worlds of their own,
Seeing things through weird and wonderful specs
In social isolation,
Frightening in its completeness.
At sixty six I since have learned about many
Of their “traits”:
Their obsessions, inflexible routines and
Panic
At all change.
Their inability to read
Emotions or social cues
Or innuendos
Or irony.
I have worked with those with Aspergers,
Colleagues, friends and clients –
Indeed with people all over
The Autistic Spectrum.
And the main thing I have learned
In all these years
Is that in my own way…
I am one of them.
Paul Butters
© PB 1\10\2018.
Oct 1, 2018
Oct 1, 2018 at 9:11 AM UTC
Normally, I have something to write
But today is poorly lacking
Too many arguments in just as many days
Comebacks are the things I'm saving
Did I mention virginity?
Want to see my V-card?
Let's call this high school baby,
I can be your point-guard
Sexuality and innuendos
Silence, is what I need.
Let's play horse, baby
I'll be your steed
Dec 3, 2012
Dec 3, 2012 at 5:50 PM UTC
It was at the party that you would see,
the nonconformist spirit of Ernest Hokum was alive and well.
He would not strive for mademoiselles
Since that would be dishonest, and Ernest was a honest man.
Not Iago honest for his desires did not lay doggo.
However, Hokum was known to succumb to a glass of ***
resulting in Hokum to become squiffy.
And any iffy encounters, he would shake them of with his usual aplomb
remaining so calm they thought he was just bored. Or dead.
And then they would leave poor Hokum to his horde of ***
"Lord, old chum, thank you for this *** Hokum proclaimed.
And he drank til he was famed for his *** drinking.
Thinking they saw him and thought "That's Hokum for you!"
Hokum knew this to be wishful thinking,
and listen to some blues.
Full of innuendos and nonsense.
Hokum's favourite combinations.
He ignored his conscience and allowed the blues to occupy his mind
Dwelling on such twaddle until he finds another distraction.
Probable *** if he was being honest, which, as previously stated he is.
Hokum didn't take life too serious
for that would be to make life into work
Any work is tedious at best, so why be so serious?
Hokum enjoyed the simple pleasures of strong alcohol and humorous inappropriate songs,
And such that was the hundum life of Ernest Hokum.
A man with a charming smile that spoke blarney with such conviction
turning fiction into facts you would believe it, just for a little while.
Why wouldn't you? That's Hokum for you, afterall.
Jan 1, 2015
Jan 1, 2015 at 7:26 PM UTC
Searching for their love ideal
To plant there a dawn so real,
God gave them hope to go ahead
And palm flowers for their dream bed.
In their naked room without windows,
Not touched with the innuendos,
With written words for music wed
And palm flowers for their dream bed,
The cradle of their nascent thought
Could cut their main Gordian knot-
Baptism of freedom in the head
And palm flowers for their dream bed.
Searching for their love ideal
And palm flowers for their dream bed.
Dec 11, 2014
Dec 11, 2014 at 5:53 PM UTC
I have always loved you.
I imagine us 30 years down the road.
I am massaging your shoulders,
relieving knots.
Life gets me in knots too.
I've put the kettle on
I have my own key now so I come and go as I please
like the old friend I've become.
I feed your cat when you go away at weekends.
Smelling your pillow
Remembering you at 40.
Your dressing table
as I pictured it.
I have my own family now
but I met you 10 years before I met my wife.
I rode the wave of your smile,
came crashing down
the day you announced you'd met someone,
holding out for the real thing.
For; I was just a boy,
what could I deliver apart from newspapers
and the odd dodgy innuendos? you laughed at
tossing your hair.
Humouring me
but,
Never letting on that you cared.
I slip away every second night
when the second hand rests between the 8 and the 9
and it is quarter to 10.
I am on my way to see you.
We play cards and toast a drink into midnight.
Sometimes I reach for your delicately aged hand
twiddling with your rings,
knowing mine would have been the sparkly one.
But not a patch on you.
We lock eyes for around a minute,
My throat is dry.
Telepathically I tell you
I have always loved you.
Whether you are 45 or 75
I will always love you.
Mar 26, 2014
Mar 26, 2014 at 10:43 PM UTC
Death stands knocking at my door
"Go away" I scream, "Go away"
But he chooses only to ignore
And not listen to what I say
He keeps peering through my windows
Looking for a way, to enter in
While making subtle innuendos
About the kind of person I've been
Ever knocking, he will not leave
Trying to get my attention
His subliminal messages I receive
That tells of his evil intention
I keep hearing him knocking, every hour
He will not let me sleep
Holding me captive, with his evil power
Ever chasing my soul to reap
Knocking, knocking, knocking
His cadence is driving me mad
My fear, he's continuously mocking
Envading what dreams I've had
Then his knocking suddenly disappears
As silence now rings in my head
Maddness has overtaken my fears
Or maybe this means I'm dead
Oct 11, 2010
Oct 11, 2010 at 7:30 PM UTC
Epilogues of skinheads amuse the ******
Eclipsed by innuendos of hatred
Vigilant they tread in sovereign flocks
By way of death they will strip us naked
In our absence zany remarks surface
Hidden by indefinite philosophies
Foolish they swarm the emerald candles
Worshiping the fathers of hypocrisy
Conquer or perish we must
To survive humanity's wrath
Lend a hand Glasgow would not
Distraught we sought immune paths
Honor us by opulent memories
Waste not our exuberant energy
© 2011 (All rights reserved)
Jan 26, 2012
Jan 26, 2012 at 2:55 AM UTC
Trash bag suits,
****** innuendos galore.
She’s a potato!
He’s a pterodactyl!
Well, she just transformed,
She’s now a sock.
Bro *******
Analyzing bread.
She can’t comprehend.
Snapping,
Shoddy renditions of West Side Story.
Bashing,
On my observational skills.
This is normal,
It is routine.
No drugs,
No mental asylums,
Just my lunch table.
Nov 29, 2012
Nov 29, 2012 at 10:27 PM UTC
"What's wrong with you?" he asked through a chuckle, and then it hit me. I knew exactly what was wrong with me. I was passionate about things, and never about people. I had loved people, but always platonically, or platonic and gilded with a crush or wrapped in lust that I always brushed off with innuendos and flippancy. I had never loved another person the way I loved twisting my brain around a calculus problem or constructing a flame chart. I had thought of people in a romantic sense more than I had evaluated people for science bowl, but lust and love had never consumed me as the issue of organizing practice and evaluation and cuts within the handspan of a month. I always fell in love with things, and never with people, and that's why already, not even 16 yet, I've reconciled myself to die alone.
Sep 18, 2013
Sep 18, 2013 at 6:01 PM UTC
Headphones in
Music blaring
Deaf to the world
Trying to forget
Trying to remember
Not quite able to do either
Thinking to much
Missing someone you barely know
Trying to remember
Trying to forget
Not quite able to do either
Lost in a daydream
Fantasizing about what could be
Wishing and hoping for more
Trying to be content
Not quite there
Headphones in
Music blaring
Deaf to the world
Missing someone you barely know
Trying to remember
Trying to forget
Not quite able to do either
Turn the music up
Close your eyes
Think of what could be
Wishing and hoping for more
Missing someone you barely know
Trying to remember
Trying to forget
Fantasizing about what could be
Lost in a daydream
A gorgeous smile
A heart-clenching laugh
Brief moments shared
Shameless flirting
Harmless innuendos
A handsome face
A great smile
Full of compliments
Headphones in
Music blaring
Deaf to the world
Missing someone you barely know
Fantasizing about what could have been
Lost in a daydream
Trying to remember
Trying not to forget
Smiling the whole time
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 9:41 PM UTC
Radio
fade in/fade out
why
you said that
i suppose
your redolent innuendos
take my hand take my heart
his hands were cleans
but his ***** clothes belonged to me
I was a washing-machine mutant
measuring out oxydol
and love
while dreaming of Apocalypse
and Metamorphasis
under the guise of musical appreciation
/sliding underneath the static/
there was no time for reality
except the truth we created for ourselves
wrapped it around us
like blue waters
that hid a broken bottle
jagged scars as memory
/channel change
smooth, cool curve of the dial
beneath my fingertips/
loooking to be the runaway
I let him go his own way
again
and again
when he sent me letters
they were addressed to a different party
and were in a strange vocabulary
I couldn't understand
I craved to make him a meaning
but music had a blood fever
I found the music
then let it play
Jul 28, 2018
Jul 28, 2018 at 2:03 PM UTC