"labia" poems
I’m never ***** anymore
I used to drip onto the floor
Libido was higher, more, my core.
But I suppose, no, it was not.
Because it waned
Yet
I remained.
Yet
I miss being effortlessly wet.
I know, I know
It’s in my head.
But maybe mostly it’s the bed?
Say, what’s different about my bedding?
Is it that I had a wedding?
And now,
Linens my sister gifted my ring and I
Sacrificed
Sprawled beneath some other guy
Another lover
Oh! dear, I’ve blown my cover.
Oh poor dear, my mother.
I'm a disgrace,
A divorce, at my age?
So, is that what stole my soak?
You know, you shouldn't marry a man,
You don't really know.
Is that what dried my dripping *****
A quick ****
From a new husband,
Who wouldn't hear no.
No.
It couldn’t be.
Far too simple for my psyche
Jun 22, 2019
Jun 22, 2019 at 7:38 PM UTC
Your ***** is funky
Dripping nectar like fine wine
Your ***** is thick
Fine hairs, crazed and divine
Your ***** don’t taste like water
It smells like a grown woman do
Your thighs are black
And slick with dew
Your ***** looks fuzzy
Your thighs do too
Razors don’t show it love
And chub rub burns it like glue
Your ***** ain’t pink
It ain’t petite
Its quite fat
Your ***** still pretty
Not that you needed affirmation of that fact
Jul 26, 2014
Jul 26, 2014 at 5:42 AM UTC
I was asked today "what
are you really into?"
while I was walking to film
class.
He had changed direction
with a flair of drama
and was walking along,
interrogating me.
I had to think.
I wondered how
I would answer his
question, were it posed
by someone I was interested in.
"I like the smell of hormones
colliding, omnipotent in their
decision to do so and in doing
it."
Could I say that?
"I like to feel like a hormone,"
or
"I like being a hormone."
Were these answers?
"I like patting my contracted
******* against the *****
majora of my partner."
"I like sewing," I might say.
That is, the idea
that if I push
and she opens
both testicles
and ******** may pop inside.
Like a **** needle pulling
a ***** thread
through a tight weave.
I laugh, imagining what the little man
would say, but
he doesn't know why.
"Stitch her up, Doctor!"
I'm
laughing.
He just says "you know, I'm into
chemistry, biology. Just tell me what
you're into."
I've been silent.
Is he still walking with me?
All I think to say is
"music" pointing to the earbuds
dangling over my chest, song
interrupted
by his pedantry.
He says "you've always liked music"
as if we've had this conversation before.
As if we know each other.
And it seems like he will follow me
to class.
And sit by me.
And talk about chemistry
and biology
while we discuss Singin' in the Rain.
Hormones, sewing and music.
Sep 21, 2012
Sep 21, 2012 at 12:50 AM UTC
Fought
One, Twenty-two skidoo.
Cantankerous mad filamous
She,
That of her,
Me.
Piñata, stretched balloon
Over my big fleshy
******
Tea and cakes,
Painted my nails
Painted my lips
Like candy.
Gold trinkets,
Pour like mercury out of my ear.
Ouch! I cried
My feet in hot sandy
Dreams.
Flying peacocks tickle
My *****
Oranges roll on chalk board tables
Over stale rye bread.
***** dribbles out like mucus
And a runny nose.
Toilet paper and rusty water.
********** on you.
Stocking lover.
Fetish cover.
Woman pusher.
Mellifluous ****
Look at my skin.
Pink, beige, peach, red
Porous, greasy, bacteria ridden hide.
**** me like seppuku,
Smother, suffocate me with
Red jelly jam.
Lubricate your finger with black
Cancerous ash.
Stick it in my naval,
Unravel my umbilical cord
Like so many filaments of my heart.
Tear your flesh
You auto *********
Rip your liver
And force feed it
Corn and maize
Hay and grass
Emory my nails against
Red barn walls
Until bare skin fundamentals
Kisses with salty lips
Inflame my ravishing
Pig stomach.
Kick my shin you
Everything,
Wake up you stupid
*****
Void can be blue skies,
Oceans call for suicide.
Kiss me with delight,
Raspberries tattooed
In my *****
Strawberry cream
Vanilla, milk,
Ponderous infinity,
Cotton, dough
Honey and sage.
Caustic gastric
You and not me.
Feel my legs,
Touch my thighs,
Lick my lips,
Give me anything
Not direct.
Tie me up in complexities.
**** my head up.
Put me in a dream,
Make me happy.
Blair Butterfield 2004
Jan 11, 2010
Jan 11, 2010 at 7:09 AM UTC
I cried for two years.
every day, all day.
Cara wanted to marry me.
I was hesitant. At that time,
I didn't know why.
Much later, when I was
in therapy, I came to realize
that, in the past, I unconsciously
feared that if I married,
most likely we would
have children, and quite
probably, we would have
a boy, and unconsciously
I feared I would treat
my son the same way
my father had treated me.
My father had treated me
harshly. He never told me
he loved me. I will spare you
the details. Cara grew increasingly
angry toward me for another year.
She used jealousy to try to
get me to marry her. She
swam in her swimming pool,
but when she dried off, I saw her
bruised ***** which I knew
I had not caused. When I saw
it, I went into shock and suffered
involuntary kundalini, which lasted
six years. After all those years
of excruciating pain, I finally
recovered. All this happened
45 years ago, but some days
I feel as though it happened
yesterday.
TOD HOWARD HAWKS
Jun 9, 2025
Jun 9, 2025 at 5:18 PM UTC
I wanted to feel his hands
massaging me once more,
rubbing out the pain & stress of my day(s).
I wanted to look into his beautiful eyes
that always said
"I Love You My Queen"
I wanted to once again
entwine our fingers
as we held close
our bodies while we laid & talked.
I want to kiss his lips,
feel
our
tongues dance again.
I wanted to run my fingers
once more thew his curly hair....
I want to hear him whisper once more
Good morning my love,
as he came home
from a night of work....
I wanted to feel him
kiss my forehead
and
say baby
I'll fight for you,
for Us!
Like he once was willing to do...
I wanted him to
be there when
His 1st born!
HIS SON
came outta me,
I wanted him to watch as
my opening stretched wide
for the life we conceived
started to break free,
wanted to look at him watching
me struggle
( for my & our sons life)
Wanted him to watch me
cry out with each contraction,
as my body sweating
and
shook from hot to cold
with hot flashes & chills,
I wanted him to see
my legs spread far apart,
my bottom hanging it seems~
slightly off the bed
my feet wrecked up on stirrups
as my ***** minora** opens wider ,
stretching it's self as well as my labia majora....
As our sons head slowly emerges out of me,
I wanted him to watch me
as I watched him
"catch His 1stborn....
His only SON!
I wanted us to cry laugh & hug each other
as our child is placed in my arms....
Him kissing me on my forehead
once more teary eyed with
that proud new daddy
look men tend to get.........
I wanted this and so much more.....
I no longer want it thou!
Realities hit
&
I'm better off
doing this on my own!
**Always Me Ayeshah **
Dec 4, 2010
Dec 4, 2010 at 12:31 AM UTC
the lakewater near the banks darken with the shadows of coniferous trees
not unlike the way my ***** darkened just the other evening with transgression
and i find myself waiting,arcing the ash from my cigarette in fiery transient streaks.
this is north west angle's public dock, a sunken relic of the anishinabe
appropriately too young to be old just like the ******* rest of us.
kee no wahh she spits with conviction,
her forked tongue a testament to the near science fiction
that keeps its ugly head low to the ground
in the backwater communities of
rural ontario and manitoba
and saskatchewan
and beyond.
purple and yellow and green galaxies span across the deep space of my neck
and that's good enough, they reckon, to land me in the passenger's seat.
now the sun's shallow beneath the canadian shield
leaving only a violent, open **** on the skyline
and the watered down blood of ritual sacrifice to
filter up through the cheesecloth of the underbrush
and effectively discolour the poplars in a pastel
identical to the lining of my ****
so ask me how many children have been
stranded on the pallid, uneven terrain of my thighs
and i'll stop making references to my ******
Feb 22, 2010
Feb 22, 2010 at 10:12 AM UTC
***** given
Uncovered - Hidden
Under hand, under night
Through the covers your eyes
Reflecting the moon and dilate.
A dusting of rain, a romantic patter
Fingers walking your *******
Outside and inside we exist as weather
Breath of wind running with sweat.
Like the rain tracing our window
We drip our salty drips;
No secrets, preoccupation - Only
Temptation to exist -
Let me know when you're ready,
Ready to let go.
Jul 2, 2015
Jul 2, 2015 at 6:25 PM UTC
I wrote several years ago, a scrap of paper with wondering thoughts--lost.
Delinquent, ovulating, ***** lovers, ***
devil, **** lies, logic, science
dalliance, omission, legality lost, sultry
does oppression look like sex--yes:
It was forced, it ran it's course
but it still runs, runs runs
silently, but in actuality, loud
quietly, but it prowls, hunting for calamity
a sad reality-- a tragedy
with wicked twists which linger
on my wrists, hips and thighs
charred with scars and lies,
I lied: with my thighs
when i let you in, it wasn't a sin
but a lesson I learned, as a girl
and education I didn't earn
--but I sure paid for
no cause for concern
but I find it discerning, sick
and disturbing--you seek dolls
so fine, glossed pretty pink lips
that shine, lips like mine
but there is no crime,
put a price on a doll
and say she's worth a dime.
Oct 7, 2014
Oct 7, 2014 at 12:49 PM UTC
Numbed dumbed thumbed
he returned home
to her *****
Charles touched her bumhole
but Diana shoved off his fumbling hand
he wanted to lick her *******
but she didn’t agree
the prince held her buttocks
slowly bumping into her
he slowly moved her bottom around
continuing to bump
but as the lady asked him to repeat this particular move
he left it alone
Apr 13, 2010
Apr 13, 2010 at 8:43 AM UTC
Forget everything you've heard about ************
It is not pathetic. It is not ***** It does exist for women.
It is not replacing an absence of ****** fulfillment.
Concept: we all posses the power to be our own ****** fulfillment.
Yes, you posses magic that can send lighting across your trembling skin. Your hand needs no navigational assistance; it moves with the wholesome earth of your body, the rolls and valleys of flesh, all while following networks of crackling nerves and goosebumps.
Feel your heart beating in your chest!
Feel your ***** thrum with life and vitality,
Your digits are like brushes, learning the canvas they paint. The wet paint dripping down your leg is a sure sign of a masterpiece on the horizon.
The spread of the sky, like the spread of your legs, is vast, and not completely known. Your fingers are long skeleton keys, keen to unlocking your own passionate ****** and sweeping pleasure.
That majesty and mystery of what dwells in the valley of your thighs, the mouth of your womb, will draw many to the mountain silhouettes of your bent legs.
Of course, the keys that best fit will always swing from your keychain.
There is no shame in knowing the bounty of your own body,
the same way that no one blames volcanologists for
the study of hot, flowing earth.
We are privileged to explore our own unique topography, memorizing maps of our rises and falls, creating a seismic shift beneath our skin, and letting loose pent up pleasure and pressure and sensation.
It is our own divine action. We are gods of our own earthly bodies.
Feb 9, 2016
Feb 9, 2016 at 2:46 PM UTC
Symmetry is what kills me
Everyday
Proxy and poking
All day all day all day
Symmetry is what kills me
Proxy and poking
What kills a lady
With a shuffling heart
Heart beats a pitter patter across a blood stream
Angles and ages
America, isn't the symmetry of my veins that carry my oxygen enough?
Why does the flesh
My mounted flesh
Purpose was to sheath me from the cold
Purpose is now askew
Mixed and messy
Even my perception is far from Symmetrical.
I apologize for my odd lips
Minor and minute
My DD faces
Is that not what the true face is?
The pink heads splayed across a globed smile and frown
Lopsided and all that matters
My true face is covered
But my true face is the object of obsession
My silly, silly old lips
My flappy *****
My rings of curly tresses galore
Symmetry still kills me, everyday.
Aug 18, 2015
Aug 18, 2015 at 4:43 AM UTC
Lend me your ears
that I
may whisper
such sweet nothings
with little more
than
a hushered breath
it's touch
lingering but a moment
to long
upon your lobe
naked now
of all pretense and flattery
my lips graze
spreading ripples
of pleasure
my tongue
probes teasing
as my kiss or' whelms you
open mouth ... closers
nibbling lightly
upon the phallas
of your *****
my breath heated now
my lips wet
and in my mind I wonder
are yours?
Feb 2, 2013
Feb 2, 2013 at 10:15 PM UTC
People are nothing more than a blur of genitalia,
gasps,
groans,
grunts,
g-spots
to savor, then scrap.
The Catch is a rehearsed routine,
catcalls turned to cat scratches
and long blonde hairs stuck to his lapel;
his wife will make
****
sure
he'll repent.
Lip bites and ***** licks,
the high leaves long breaths
escaping quenched lips.
**** falling for you,
I'd rather
**** you and leave
standing up straight
Aug 4, 2014
Aug 4, 2014 at 11:34 PM UTC
i appear with boots and a saucy smile on
in the doorway while she's cooking the women
gossip over the sizzling pan of hot butter
under her heaving chest on the stove
i'm wearing a magic cape mimicking a windmill
with my bright pink ***** standing *****
big as a barn in the morning sun
lusting after dominance
fat and wrapped like a chorizo sausage
she sends a half-wave into my
direction of space and says--on the counter
i'm ******* an older latina lady with a chiquita banana
deep in my mother's kitchen with
the sticker on the tip of my **** for reference
as the sun dances and rises just
before pancake breakfast
her dank breath smells like
pollo broth and fiesta cigarettes
but her **** is wild soft and new
like a banana being peeled and sliced lengthwise
warm ***** hanging on either side
fat enough to be chewed on
psychedelic salsa blares
on the radio all morning
and i'm holding her skirt up to
reveal beautiful hips and thigh muscles so
i can **** her harder and faster
at her request
hands fly and the big bowl of
seeds spray downward in gravitational collapse
she's singing mexican gypsy secrets
with a cigarette lit and just hanging lopsided
off her lipsticked marshmallow lips
she's holding a yellow crayon in one hand
like she'll be scribbling notes shorthand
and dribbling cane syrup over my naked body
with the other as the floor begins shaking and
the walls shed plaster the cupboard doors creak
on their hinges and mom walks in the room looking at me
like i'm the crazy one
but the cataclysmic miracle is done
senorita is kneeling and wiping my ****
with an authentic mexican flag handkerchief
her sweat and my *** cooling on her thighs
working holes in her new blue kneesocks
and i'm re-zipping her dress over the
glistening expanse of her brown back
she stands trying to fix her freshly ****** hair and
we both light a cigarette try to forget the whole thing happened laughing at our secret as her cherry toes finally uncurl like an ember drifting in campfire smoke she just juts a hip out licks her lips again and smiles
"bueno."
Apr 15, 2015
Apr 15, 2015 at 2:52 PM UTC
pour some words into my ear
make a nice stout aural darjeeling
no need to sweeten
i like mine hot and strong
in turn, i'll steep your cochlea
Senno Rikyu at your service
master of libidinous liquids
ceremonial titillated ears
then we'll make oolong to each other
i'll brew your longing leaves
ferment your black dragon lips
sip the liquor from your *****
write it up for the society page
tea today at four and Thea pours
Feb 20, 2012
Feb 20, 2012 at 12:01 AM UTC
Through the laden flights of pot-stewed gulls -
Deepening in red rosaries to poltroon,
Contaminated by an urgent wish,
The sun-soaked merry bandits blew.
Each to each, and, mingling with that sweaty palm,
Dolorous eyes sad-greeted the fleeing dawn.
Pancreas then, the earth-girdled Titan swam,
Anon the rising tide to stem.
Dentist the night, repair to dance-floored beams,
And rising melodiously ever anew to pine,
Sweet ***** dreaming of her saw-toothed chemise
Saw the fine end to the upstart king.
Curtains swayed against my pearly doom
Not brightly was your plainting song
Palpitating in earthly measures anew
Or seeking once more the mighty to appease.
O David, in thy glance the silver moth did live
Long dawns. An enemy of the swordfish,
He menaced us so long. And now?
Sporadic is the demise of depth!
A silver sea, or rather a sea with a fine multitude of
silver points
Caressing my eyes like toothless counterpoint to the
stately blue.
It gave a floor to a weening being of prancing gait and
measured thighs.
She smiled.
And the sea broke and roared, as ever,
and I heard it once more.
I saw too the sky, which had sufficient blue.
Cooled by the sea,
warmed by the setting rays and mild air, the body
luxuriated in perfect
temperature. She did not smile, but perhaps she did..
My body, I mean.
We came away, from there, as from all places to meet
another need.
of darkness and quiet. Foamed the elements of slaking
portions of
mysterious
substance. Surrendered to the moving body without
real life.
Borne along on a
stream of liquid desire residing in another's
breast.
Relinquishing her to a
perfect nothingness like lead or caviare.
Oh, and who awaited me? She was imprisoned
but beautiful
and I thought
quite happy. I don't think she even wanted to come
to me,
or so it seemed. But she was happier too outside,
in the waning sun.
Mainly she had been safe and free.
And there's an end of this day, which roamed
whither it would,
for I did not attempt to chain it. Now I flee it.
Apr 7, 2012
Apr 7, 2012 at 3:55 AM UTC
*It's reddy pink petals
sniffed or chewed
might grant dreams
a tendency to
inveigle poetry
with flowers
gift the surrealistic
shifts in sight
pluralistic ignorance
sequenced realities
Rare serious
side effects
include concern
for a green planet's
billions of voices
buried unheard
by enculturation
Of course
it's proper name
sounds like *****
suggesting labido
enhancing sniffs
for this
Official advice is:
'An excess
of chewing
may cause
drowning !*
Jul 14, 2010
Jul 14, 2010 at 2:54 PM UTC
Even the walls have their ears,
Although they are nonliving,
****** cries were overheard,
Easily by the walls themselves,
**** sounds of **********
Deflowering the young wife,
Roping in spies for the purpose,
Opening the ***** so delicate,
People so enjoy overhearing,
Pretty sights shine right upfront,
In their addiction to **** time,
No secrets remain virtuously,
Good habits are hard to develop.
May 29, 2017
May 29, 2017 at 9:49 PM UTC
After your lecture on
polyphase something-or-the-others
we meet at my house which is also
your house. We were going to make dinner
but
you're wearing those square black glasses and
a tight lacy blouse and
that **** pencil skirt that hugs your ***
and those black stilettos and
I can't help myself. I lean
across the stove and twirl
it off, condemning the pasta to half-cookedness
and then I
grab you around the waist
pull you flush against me
and kiss you breathless
one hand on the small of your back
the other
on your *** kneading and squeezing
eliciting gasps from your parted lips that
end up between my teeth.
your trembling hands frantically
unbuttoning my shirt as I unzip your
skirt and throw it to the corner your
blazer and castaway your
blouse and then you're in your
bra and dampened ******* fingernails
scratching and raking and clawing at
the small of my back with your
legs spread in an inverted triangle and your
tongue in my mouth. I unsnap your
bra and moments later your
******* are under lipsteethtongue and then
lipsteethtongue
kisssuckbite
lower
and
lower
until
lipsteethtongue
kisssuckbite at
your ******** and your
***** until
gasping squealing moaning
you ****** your
juice in my
mouth and on my
lipstongueteeth.
The pasta is wasted.
Sep 19, 2013
Sep 19, 2013 at 2:53 PM UTC
I put a baby inside
Of the belly of my Bonney lass bride
Twice
Say the ****** covered by placenta
Looking through her *** to deaths eye
She may live he may die
He may live I'll lose my wife
Through the cream pie I stare down death
Between her ***** holds hemorrhage and life
Bleeding down her c-section
The acreted blood sac could cause infection
Already has
My baby gave multiple blood poisoned hits to her kidney
He's already a fighter I think he'll beat me up. He's going to come out with bigger boots than mine, prolly a bigger ****
Hope they both make it.
I can't fix it
My hands are tied in the cervical opening, my minds wrapped in the emboli cal cord, and my fingers are twiddling thumbs nauseously in Beccas ******
I should take Lornhes place in the amniotic fluid and gag myself in the fetal position
Or I could do what no one does these days.
Be a man of character.
Show him passion, knowledge, courage, and integrity.
Be a Father.
P.S. Son. All dads are letdowns, when you read this one day. I hope I have done my best. I Love You.
Lendon Partain
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 8:34 PM UTC
i would never ask
and you may never tell,
but do you ever see that
dream of us in Mexico?
it's okay. it's okay. it's ok.
you don't have to answer.
just hush now and say
something sweet to me
inside of your head.
Tell me dear tell me
do you still see us
at the Louvre, in the rain?
is it me standing there
or is it someone else?
how do his hands feel?
how does his voice peal?
does his fragrance waft
away from his skin and
tickle the ***** minora?
does he wash his sheets
every four or five weeks
to keep the lonely facade in tact?
does he live on a staple of
beer and roast beast,
an occasional moonshine
when the mood strikes him just?
does he torture himself senselessly,
incessantly, bridging the neurons
to find he's forgotten it all?
... does he love Cherry Coke?
no.
he isn't there with you is he?
it's somebody else. somebody
with yellow hair to his shoulders
and bright shining blue eyes:
the kind of eyes that tend to
outshine you, and all the
things you convinced us
you've got going for you.
the kind of eyes that seep charity.
oh, is he there with you when
you're snorkeling in the Maldives
and you realize that you've gone
just a bit too far underwater...
you're very deep when you
well know you shouldn't be.
then tell me: what happens?
you are found and swept,
carried and rescued until
BOOM! You breach the veneer
and there are all your friends
looking down at you, thinking:
"thank the Lord our Savior for
Titus Arnold Masters McMajor."
but love please love oh love,
tell me who you really see.
touch your lips and swear to me
that it isn't the mediocre man
who doesn't spring to your mind.
both of you without a stitch,
floating abreast and prone:
skeletons in the Dead Sea.
Jul 20, 2017
Jul 20, 2017 at 5:44 PM UTC
Hold me up on your shoulders
back against the wall
look up between my thighs
teasing inside, tongue & all.
Lay me down
on the soft blanket of your bed,
& kiss me all the way up
to my lips.
Open my legs
pin my hands
above my head
& tease me with your hips.
Now baby,
I want you to push your perfectly proportioned shaft, inside my tight woven ***** Rub my ***** & ******** while your rhythm makes me go crazy.
Increase the tempo of your symphony, arching my back- you make me gasp.
You make me scream.
Oh make it last!
Feel the swell
Feel the pulse
Nails in your back
Body convulse
10, 9, 8,
My whole body starts to shake
7, 6, 5, 4
Baby spread my ***** like I'm a *****
3,2,1
a squirter is always 10 times the fun.
Feb 18, 2014
Feb 18, 2014 at 12:35 AM UTC
No te enamores de un cabrón
Ni de su ***** ni de su boca ni de su barba
Ni de sus labios ni de sus palabras
Ni de sus escritos ni de sus historias
Ni de sus ojos a través de las gafas
Ni de sus manos felinas y curiosas que todo lo tocan
Ni de sus anomalías ni de sus defectos
Ni de su respiración sobre tu cara
Ni de su cama al despertar por la mañana
¡Que no te enamores de un cabrón!
que es solo mío.
Nov 25, 2016
Nov 25, 2016 at 3:09 AM UTC