Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
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 penetrate 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.
Willow Sep 2016
You convinced me that only lies flow from your lips
So I stayed my distance
Always hoping to run right back to you,
Once my bruises healed
But always knowing
Blood would also be at the surface of those cuts

You are nothing but a lampshade,
Protecting the hot light that burns inside of me
That would shine brighter if not for you

Believing your lies was expensive,
But no more than staying
And I pay the price each lonely morning
Amanda Jul 2018
I keep giving you chances
Over and over you swear you're done
When I catch you lying I try to leave
Yet always return because you're the one
I'm finally beginning to realize
That the day you change will never come
Sometimes we wait too long for things we know aren't coming
Amaris Oct 2018
A childish accusation, "You promised"
Before fear's taught kids are bolder
Denied the right, who can I trust
And I can't say, now that I'm older

Growing up we all learn how to lie
Despite all our parents' trying
It's become my second nature, why?
I've found it's easier than fighting

When the world demands a lot of you
You learn to adjust or fall apart
Rarely is the desired answer true
Tangled in lies, where do I start

I know I can do better and I should
A refrain throughout our heads
Binding words, be a kid that's "good"
Follow through all that's been said

My master is fear, I've learned my lesson
Lying seems to be an act that's kind
We tend to try to have good intentions
"How are you today?" "I'm doing fine."
MJL Feb 23
Diseased turnip
Rooting in the dirt
Rotting fodder
Unpicked
Untapped
Gnarled and bitter
Lying under your bridge
When you are gone
No-one will miss your rancid rag


© 2019 MJL
Kathryn Maurine Jun 2017
The Art of Subconscious Illusion is an elusive tendency towards the averse,
             or rather,
the act of lying to oneself

        Oft times you’ll find yourself wondering how...
             …how you lost her…how you lost love…

                            how you lost yourself

         Your mind a jumble of
               spiral static,
         coils of confusion, twisting malevolently,

                             failing and falling,
                   flawed and faulty,
          feeble and fading,

you slowly begin to yearn for a second chance,
        wish that you had performed more charmingly in the blistering tragedy of feelings lost...

but there are few second chances in the misfortunes of life.
      the damage is done, and now you must live with the consequences
       of a dying will to persist in this journey,
                              the ups
                                                the downs
                                the laughter
                                                        ­ the pain
after endless days of convincing yourself you’re not to blame you finally see it for what it is...
                    You made the choice
     you made your bed, and now you must lie in it…

and as you slowly make your way towards the reclining ***** of the soft satin covers you’ll begin to see….

it was not a bed your actions relayed....
                                                                       ....it was a coffin
Sarah Isma Jul 2018
i would like to thank my parents,
for raising the best liar,
for teaching me to not give in to my desires,
for showing me that this world is an open fire,
that i am just walking through the shooting grounds,
that i am just trying to make it past the bounds,
that for some reason i showed you my accomplishments,
but in the end you ask if that’s ever going to be enough
they say strict parents raise the best liars, and for once i realize that it’s true. It’s become a thing, a sort of addiction, that lies easily flow through, and deceit seems to be my best personality. I’ll change, i’ll try, and i hope someday i’m able to tell them the little truth hidden behind this huge lie.
Smoke Scribe Sep 2018
let the lying begin

first, it's ***** - not *******.
don't pretend its scientific,
like geology, physiology.

It's just ***. raw and without boundaries.
you watch. you fantasize. you deny.

then when your conscience questions,
you lie, first and foremost,
to yourself.

what's your favorite category?
got a favorite site?
or you like to explore,
never satisfied, more?
more.

Let the hunger games begin.
who can lie with straightest face?

filter me off of your list,
unless you ready to follow me,
to where truth rules,
no punches pulled,
raw is real. *** is raw.
real is ***.

otherwise, why would you still be reading this
poem?

gotcha.
I  know who you are...
;Cheating defined.:
1. "Anything that I do
that does not involve you."

2. "Nurturing any part of me
that does not satisfy some part of you."

3. "Satisfying any need i have
that seems illigitiment in your mind."


. . . At least, that's what I've come to understand. . . .
i wish i got to re-write the dictionary
memoona kazmi Feb 22
nothing can hold me back now,
neither any luxury,
nor any love,
neither any goal,
nor any determination,
don't tell me now,
that you will be there for me,
when i have stood alone,
in the breathtaking storms,
watching my sail,
being blown away,
don't tell me you love me,
when i know you don't,
don't tell me it's all gonna be better,
when i already know,
you will always be you,
and i'll a;ways be me.........
Kara Jean May 2016
"I ****** less", she said grabbing her lacey dress.
Her contrary dignity intact as she takes a sip of whiskey.
Walking out the door becoming the prominent mother everyone adores.
*** addict, she ignores.
No one sees the double life she hides so well.
Between the sheets of Monogamy and lustry gratification.
Her heart beats wildly out of control making her want to feed.
Possibly disfunctional programming involved.
She feels no need to anguish in the games she plays.
Love is where her happiness is.
*** is where her gut resides.
Savy Sep 2018
I was mad.

I was mad about being second best.
I was mad about taking a second place in your heads.
I was mad about what you discussed behind my back.
I was mad about realising how mad it all made me become.

I was sad.

I was sad about how excluded you made me feel.
I was sad about how vulnerable I had let myself become.
I was sad about not feeling as important to you anymore.
I was sad because I felt so alone without you.
With you.

I was tired.

I was tired of seeing them push me aside.
I was tired of being interrupted for your gains.
I was tired of being used to broaden your shoulders
And widen your egos
I was tired of seeing her face and hearing you laugh at her words.

I was wounded.

Wounded because you left me all alone when I needed you.
Wounded because you chose them over me. And her.
Wounded because I had finally found my place and they took it from me.
Wounded because my mistakes were haunting me.
Wounded because you were hurting me, neglecting me, rejecting me.

Now you've come back to me.

Come back like I predicted.
Come back like none of this ever happened.
Come back like she was never here.
Like I never asked you that question.
Come back like we were never different.
Come back like my heart is still yours and yours is still mine.

And now you smile at me,
Talk to me,
Laugh at me like nothing ever happened, nothing ever changed.
Like we will still remain
The same
And I don't know what to think anymore
Other than what love is made of.
Francis Rowell Feb 2018
am I to believe
after all this time
you haven't changed a bit?

am I to believe
after all this time
you've all but gone to ****?

am I to believe that you still don't care
that you're still not trying?
because your intentions are bare
and out in the open
yet I still can't decipher them
gracie Sep 2018
Tell me the story of the fawn,
white-spotted, damp-eyed,
lying still on the roadside;
how the forest mourned for days,
twisting and churning its leaves
against the ashen sky.
Tell me the story of tragedy,
wind beneath the wings of Icarus
on his journey to the sun;
how he closed his eyes and smiled,
basking in freedom’s warmth
before plummeting back to earth.
Tell me the story of youth,
wild and tender, dancing barefoot
as though we were made of nothing
less than bruises and blackberry wine;
how I'd let love destroy me,
crashing
the car
if it meant dying in your arms.
Next page