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sara Jun 2018
Red wine stains your lips and teeth,
reciting Tolstoy; war and peace,
smoke leaves your lips  each word you speak
-as if it was, somehow, for me.

A dwindling old lover's flame;
we lay warm on a bed of coal.
Beneath the sheets, I've seen your face,
but every time your hands were cold.
Lurid pressure in perfect hiding,

Heat rises amidst quiet timing.

Covers conceal fingers,
And skin conceals-

Well,

Only from the blinded.

Flitting breath from lungs to neck,

Begging tongue,
And baiting breast.

Tentative flesh,
Upon tentative flesh,

What comes next?

Anything I want,

If this is,

Yes.
Don't judge my #'s
Penelopejayde Apr 2015
The upbringing of a person could lead to a frivolous publican.
A brother and sister are both witnessing the featherbrained fool.
This world we live in is a bit bamboozle

Escaping to a state of ecstasy with your purple kaleidoscope why don't we shape the future and use cinnamon soap.

With your undercoats it's an antidote for a hurtful situation
It's like we are burning in ice.
Your a magician but you can't stop stupid.

Adolescents knowing the need to finish yet they are taking over to much to cope.
So now they are discovering, considering, cinnamon soap.
My first poem
Sebastian Macias Mar 2017
If you've felt the floor
At the bottom of your cave
After falling 40 feet
Blood across your lips
Body slammed across
The field of rocks and dirt
Unable to move
Days go by slower
All you can hear are screams
As you shut your eyes
If you've been there, my friend
You've felt the thirst
Which nothing can tame
It's in the air at night
In your bones at light
The eyes are majestic
The feeling is soft
And your veins are cold
It is all you want
To reach out and take it
Ravage it over and over
As it asks for more
******* out the life
And breathing into yours
It drives you mad with frenzy!
Rushing all over your body
And you can't stop till
You've had enough
Floating away with the waves
Waiting to come back for more
Allie Nov 2017
You stand here kissing the light.
A halo of red leaves fall past your head
Your lips leave sparks on my cheek
Your eyes are as steady as tree trunks
The touch of your hand,
Makes the wind roar.
Will you catch me if I fall?
I already am.
My shirt ripples like waves in the  sea,
I wish to fall forever.
Because your mountain lion purr is my new favorite song,
I feel that your mysterious mind is made of music,
Each breath is a tune, each word is a melody,
You smell like brown cabins and daisies,
Your naked feet are the mud I am stuck in.
H e l p
I'm going to hit the ground and disappear into your orange hands.

You stand here kissing the light.
The gray skies are meant to be your background
Your rosy cheeks look far too kissable,
While you dance as if it's all you know how to do.
Every glance you grant me is a blessing and a  s i n,
Memories of lip balm and car rides flood my brain.
My dress is soaked, I'm drowning in you,
I wish you were lost in me too.
Your baffling blonde hair blinds me,
I can no longer see where I step.
Caught in a whirlpool, drinking all your thoughts,
Cold evenings, sweaty bodies,
You smell like blue trampolines and bubblegum.
This love is a shipwreck,
Oh God, This daydream has an expiration date,
I can't live off empty kisses and blue eyes.

You stand here kissing the light.
And breathing burgundy words.
Your hands are searching for a spark,
But your touch is as light as a bumble bees.
When you laugh, I no longer feel alone,
Because you make my heart beat again.
I stand on tiptoe and kiss your habitual hat,
Wishing I could be happy in your arms.
You are a sunny serene statue
In this seriously fast-paced fast-racing world.
But, notes passed and dying embers won't save me from
H o l l o w  car rides home.
You smell like warm blankets and hot sauce.
I warn you not to drink me,
I am spoiled milk.
Get out, before it's too late,
I don't love your yellow mind like I should.

You stand here kissing the light.
A rainstorm strikes when you laugh,
Your bare back is the sturdy ship,
I am stranded on in this wide ocean.
I'm stuck in the jungle of your mind,
The story of you is locked in my bones,
You're wild, green, and reckless,
I'm etranced.
Our various vivacious ventures leave me in    r e v e r i e,
craving something I can't quite name.
Yet, smoky rooms and video games
can't protect me from these
black thoughts.
You smell like cinnamon and *****,
In this moment, that feels like home.
But god, I can't tell if I'm healing or hurting,
And I don't know if you'll survive
the hole in my heart,
Still, I'll kiss your brown lips,
and hope that you do
A poem about the three girls and one guy in my life I've loved
Peter Balkus Aug 2018
When she was crying in my arms,
I licked her teardrop.

It tasted like mine.
Over-Complicated Dec 2018
A bed we knew very little of, the history was a mystery.
My skin smiled when it met yours,
Radiating peace and security.
My bud blossomed into small roses that were pressed close to your heart.
Between us, a dance
Unlike any other I had ever known. A twist and pull, a push and shout,
Breath intertwined like branches in a cold winter forest.
Your hands fell down my hips, slithering to the beat we had made.
A grin, I felt, behind your curled lips, and a kiss they delivered unto me.
The deep pulse of love entered my stomach and my heart.
It filled my soul with the feeling of you.
And we
We are a drug so powerful that you can never forget the taste we left upon your thoughts.
sian Feb 19
I want to be touched
Even if it’s pretend
Even if you don’t mean it
Touch me gently
Run your fingertips across my skin
Hold me tighter and tighter
Kiss me softly whilst you hug me
Even if it’s pretend
Even if you don’t mean it
Tell me you love me
Gilly Sama Jul 2016
Two tables apart,
Two books on your hand,
Two persons in love behind me,
Two dark brown eyes gazing at me
As my two big eyes stared back.
You took two steps forward
When you lean two inches closer,
Two hearts beat in rhythm.
Then you said those two words,
Two words that normal people say
But when you said those two words,
As if two worlds crushed down on me.
*"Hi love."
Ming Sama| July 19, 2016
Literrius Miller Mar 2018
Your hand.... runs pass mine
As we sit and sigh, enjoying the time,
You turn to me as I turn to you
we sense how each other feel
But act as so we don't have a clue

I slide my palm over the small of your back
I lean in catching your scent,
before you turn and give me a kiss
We stare into each other eyes
In a moment of bliss.

Just to be close right now
burns as hot as fire
as sweat forms beneath my brow
By an unspoken desire.

There's a fragile feeling
codependent on us
A soft intimate moment
Built upon trust.
Jarene Jan 9
***
i thought
***
was supposed to be
beautifully passionate
the exploration
of two souls
but what is
***
when it is selfishly
lustful
when all you see
is a hot
body
a temporary
object
and nothing more
nothing below the surface
Alyssa Underwood Jul 2016
It is out of the heart’s cavernous longing and furious search
for love, significance, acceptance, approval, identity, security,
freedom, belonging, innocence, intimacy and transcendence—
out of its primordial memory of what was lost to us in the Garden—
that we begin to ***** idols for ourselves.

Unconsciously we hope they might restore to us a taste of paradise,
taking away our fear and shame and isolation.
We yearn to go back but, alas, we cannot get in from there.
We ache to connect to beauty, to be desired by it as much as we desire it,
and Jesus is the only door by which we may enter.
He is the Beauty, and all the rest are simply there like pealing bells
to arouse our hearts to Him and tell us that He is coming for us.

Still, as if we haven’t quite yet heard and believed the message, we keep
aimlessly trying to forge a false righteousness through our false gods.
When they are lost or the dreams of them unrealized we are devastated,
for the shadows, echoes and reflections we had supposed would finally
make us feel good about ourselves have been exposed as frauds,
and once again we are left to feel naked but without fig leaves to cover us.

It is at these precise moments, when the bottom of our false hope falls out,
that we are best prepared to encounter Christ in His intimate
fullness and most apt to recognize at last that He alone is
everything we have been so desperately wanting.
It is our boiling point, where the unbearable weight
of failed expectation so crashes in on us that we are finally
begging God to lift our idols off of us and deliver us from them,
pleading with Him to come and capture us,
crying out to Him to possess us fully.
~~~
Alyssa Underwood Nov 2015
Little chick
under Abba's wing
intimate haven
of sweetest grace

Little child
learning to sing
of infinite joy
in Abba's face
"He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the LORD, 'He is my refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust.' " 
 Psalm 91:1-2

"He called a little child and had him stand among them. And He said: 'I tell you the truth, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Therefore, whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven.' "  Matthew 18:2-4
D Awanis Apr 2017
She has lost count on how many nights she spent alone,
spoiling her thoughts while sipping her whiskey at the balcony
looking at the stars and the moon with intimate longing,
and wishing to be one of them as if she was one, once

They say that to live is the rarest thing in the world,
as for her, life is always a puzzle with one missing piece,
an endless labyrinth with no way out, let alone the dead end
an unsolved riddles with no absolute clues, let alone the answer

Sometimes at times like tonight, she'd let her mind wander
to streets she has never walked before and people she has never met,
with language she barely understands nor familiar with,
thinking maybe solitude is not a bliss after all—it's an agony
Shafira May 14
“I love you” I confessed to him,

“I can’t do this,” he answered,

“it’s already morning.”
Alyssa Underwood Nov 2015
It is out of the heart’s cavernous longing and furious search
for love, significance, acceptance, approval, identity, security,
freedom, belonging, innocence, intimacy and transcendence—
out of its primordial memory of what was lost to us in the Garden—
that we begin to ***** idols for ourselves.

Unconsciously we hope they might restore to us a taste of paradise,
taking away our fear and shame and isolation.
We yearn to go back but, alas, we cannot get in from there.
We ache to connect to beauty, to be desired by it as much as we desire it,
and Jesus is the only door by which we may enter.
He is the Beauty, and all the rest are simply there like pealing bells
to arouse our hearts to Him and tell us that He is coming for us.

Still, as if we haven’t quite yet heard and believed the message, we keep
aimlessly trying to forge a false righteousness through our false gods.
When they are lost or the dreams of them unrealized we are devastated,
for the shadows, echoes and reflections we had supposed would finally
make us feel good about ourselves have been exposed as frauds,
and once again we are left to feel naked but without fig leaves to cover us.

It is at these precise moments, when the bottom of our false hope falls out,
that we are best prepared to encounter Christ in His intimate fullness
and most apt to recognize at last that He alone is everything
we have been so desperately wanting.
It is our boiling point, where the unbearable weight
of failed expectation so crashes in on us that we are finally
begging God to lift our idols off of us and deliver us from them,
pleading with Him to come and capture us,
crying out to Him to possess us fully.
~~~
Ashley Chapman Jul 2018
Pressesd tenderly,
your carnal flower opens,
its butterfly released,
hovers like a hummingbird
drinking from the bill.

Oh, I too would steal you away
and cage you happily,
to get under your black-fringed skirt; 
to see that pretty dress,
fly off once more,
and see you bare;
burned now forever in my banks,
a first sight,
of dark curls!

As I think of it,
my desire stirs,
but of us
I have already masturbated twice:
jammed,
hips pinned,
sliding over our wet perspiring bellies,
in our jungle heat:
'cause in the firmament of our embrace
- it's hot -
where glued we **** into each other,
stoking flames,
until sleep,
when we disappear from each other.
My mind crowds,
with niggling neurotic inanities;
yours with manic dreams where bed-wetting criminals in cages beg to be freed,
before better spaces overtake.

When I awake,
I am lying next to you,  
Gwen over the horizon of your fertile valley,
a mountain,
white and reposed.
You,
murmuring desire for me.
****!
I can't wait to answer.

It is late,
late morning,
and we are all half asleep.
You have your back to me,
as we lie,
rubbing feet,
stroking hands,
(the oiled bulb at the end of a finger),
your fine shoulders,
(that delicate but persistent bone in your wrist that stretches with pointed elegance);
as quietly inside,  
(warmly enveloped),
my couched *****,  
rocks us:
each diffusing into the other
like the early morning brew.

Lust and love,
closing-in,
which for a good while on edge had been:
the weeks,
days,
hours;
faint promises from afar;
sometimes a little closer,
our shadows in daylight cross,
as one over the other storms;
and once (or twice),
a sleeve brushes,
even better,
hair crackles,
as a speaking lip touches lobe,  
and for a moment,
taking in the other's scent,
a hint sublimely overpowers.

And these,
dearest of fancies,
are just some,
with which to ******* your mind,
as you have mine:
the energy of my yielding tenderness,
inviting you to complete me,
as I spread for you with desire.

Much later,
those daring looks you have,
the way you walk our stage:
your beautiful elongated face,
those quick-fire arousing eyes,
your sultry self-assuredness,
your pre-possessing self.

I could talk about your couple,
of generosity,
reaching up,
beyond mere comprehension:
of the fact that I like Gwen
(his love gift for you, me);
but actually,
in truth,
I prefer to take this moment to make love to you;
to say how wrapped I am,
folded in your limbs,
in our mingling sweat;
how with your joy,
you touch my desires,
into yours,
so they flow,
run rather:
honeysuckle from your blessed nymphae.

You love my smell,
you say,
and I dream of gathering you in pheromones,
of drugging you,
of intoxicating you,
so once again you will find me,
take me,
have me.
Entice you once more like a creature from its shell:
Come!
where I can ravish you,
all of you,
lay naked to me,
flesh,
sinews,
everything,
your very bones;
those fine elbows,
those knees I would like to ******* over;
wash their smooth surfaces in my come:
from these cliff heights,
rain ***** on the rocks below.

To once more cast aside your socks and get at your toes,
to pour oil on 'em,
to rub and squeeze' em,
while in the moist cavern of your insides,
we ****,
half washed over by our own tide.
And as we do,
I quail,
speaking sweet nothings of appreciation;
from full lips,
your sounds return,
the hypnotic rhythm of your breath:
I engorge and in our labyrinth,
- the maiden and the bull -
we consume ourselves.

There,
Sweet Lentiform,
you did it,
you got me rolling in flesh,
lusting after your intimate parts,
wanting you in bed as I know you must have me:
pulling me on you,
kissing and biting;
my arousal in your palm,
pops,
as you run a curved finger over my nethers.

Lying,
lying,
side-by-side,
lying prone,
lying ******,
never unconsumed,
because,
please,
please us,
with more;
so rarely,
unfucked even for a pause,
nothing doing more than sleeping and carousing;
our sustenance barely enough to keep us at it,
an occasional comic thrown in.
Oh,
God,
throw the ******* comic at me,
will you?
Beat my ******* flesh with it if you like.
Anything to see you standing in all your pearly naked glory!

And if you can,
keep texting me,
so I can hang on your every word like a ******* puppy!
Beautiful
long-haired,
skin tight,
upright,
wise,
gorgeously wild,
woman ...
Now pull me by my **** into your **** -
where I love it best.
jbui Dec 2018
Feel the wetness between those thighs and envision the moments we long,
Wring her up, toss me aside, and realize you were wrong
Escape internal madness for the gift of such despair
So, when I seek joyous encounters, all there will be left is fear
As the sun begins its cycle this morn, I picture the ache of light
Gone. And compressed of all your sins, she drowns in all her might
emotional pain can hurt just as bad as physical infidelity...
CK Baker Jan 2017
( i )
I lucked out
on table 4 last night
window seat
baseboard heat
with intimate passages
from Ginsberg
in his purest
and most evident form

Cover-all Carl was draped
in his usual garb
turning pages
of yesterday's news
animating, culturing and bantering
on the fate of the
Greek barber
(in an accent of which
I'm not so sure)

His cronies
looked on
with a twisted conviction
countering
with their own tales
of ingovernance and woe
did you know that Panasonic
lost 5 billion last quarter?


The evening moved
in time lapse
with painted winds,
streaming lights
and a host of
high school girls
running cold

Maleah passed
on her late shift
(checking the pile and trough)
patronized the boys
and called it a night

( ii )
The bald man
is back at it again
bickering at the till
something about
a cold free coffee
or 99 cents
or the coloured guy
behind him who got it hot
a kind Filipino
is trying to get it done
at 8 bucks per,
losing her cool
and shedding a quiet tear

Wonder what the Purewals
or Haitians or Cossacks
would have to say
about this grim public reminder,
wonder what
this sad f*ck
will do tonight...
without his
bus pass
or sling sack
or broken Turkish stems
Stephen E Yocum Jun 2017
Sincere reassuring hugs,
Touching and
being touched,
Caresses shared,
Easy laughter exuded,
Intimate whispers
of affection exchanged,
A fellowship of souls,
Sweet Companionship
spread, like frosting on a cake.
As comfortable and reassuring
as your favorite old wool sweater
on a chilly night's weather.
****** passions undeniably
wonderful, yet often those
heated flames cool and wane.
The chemistry of loving
companionships can last
a lifetime and perhaps beyond.

For CJ with great affection
and love.
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