"minora" poems - Hello Poetry

If I were ****** I'd choose Scientology. Or Mormonism. Probably both. Jews are too cool. I love their culture of practical intelligence that accommodates science and atheism in a dark world of savagery and jealousy their light shines like a radiant star or the soft glow of a candle-lit minora. Scientology and Mormonism are decadent, creepy and ridiculous.

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May 17, 2013

May 17, 2013 at 2:48 PM UTC

albert-deguerre

Personal ******

If I were ****** I'd choose Scientology. Or Mormonism. Probably both. Jews are too cool. I love their culture of practical intelligence that accommodates science and atheism in a dark world of savagery and jealousy their light shines like a radiant star or the soft glow of a candle-lit minora. Scientology and Mormonism are decadent, creepy and ridiculous.

11

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 **

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Dec 4, 2010

Dec 4, 2010 at 12:31 AM UTC

Ayeshah

Wanted!!!!!

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 **

70

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.

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Jul 20, 2017

Jul 20, 2017 at 5:44 PM UTC

stephane-noir

skeletons

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.

62

J 'atterris sur la planète Vulvae En haut du Mont de Vénus Vulvae c'est le coeur battant de ma Muse. Ma muse est un dragon à quatre-vingt-huit têtes Et chacune de ses têtes me sourit Et m'offre là un thé vert, là une camomille Là un morceau de pain, là un verre d'eau de vie de mirabelle, Là un ballon de vin clairet Et comme je ne veux peiner aucune de ses têtes Qui tournoient autour de moi Je les cajole toutes en faisant une fumaison de musc Ainsi comme les abeilles les têtes se calment sevrées . Des quatre-vingt-huit têtes de ma muse Qui défilent sur le podium En me faisant les yeux doux de Chimène Celle que je préfère c'est la numéro trois Bien sûr je ne le lui ai jamais dit Je ne veux fâcher personne et surtout les numéros dix-neuf et quatorze, Ces succédanés de ma Muse, Dont j'apprécie les atours virevoltants de jaune et orange. Mais Coconchine c'est ma tête préférée Mon mannequin à moi Ne me demandez pas pourquoi Sa ***** minora Sa ***** majora Sa flore vaginale Son petit air coquin et absent en même temps Tout concourt à ce que ce soit ma prima donna. C'est peut-être sa couleur qui me chavire Ce bleu océan ou outre-mer Je sens que la cyprine qui en coulera Déteindra sur mes lèvres Soudain bleues à l 'unisson de ses envies. C'est une énigme Et son énigme me fascine. C'est un condensé de Vulvae La vulve de ma Muse. C'est la Vulve rêvée, fantasmée Intemporelle comme une pierre gravée Une vulve versatile, gredine. Faussement pudique Elle bat des cils Et volette comme une nymphe De morpho bleu et léger Au-dessus des orphies qui volettent elles aussi. Elle m'invite, Elle m'a choisi, Je suis l'Elu, Son cheval barbu Elle me désire, Elle me charrie Dans les tourbillons de la cyprine Qui m'entrouvre la porte de son vestibule et en pénétrant dans ce labyrinthe Je grave de mon silex Les flammes bleues du feu qui me dévore.

0

Aug 21, 2019

Aug 21, 2019 at 11:28 AM UTC

cyclone-wolfok-baltimore

Vulvae

J 'atterris sur la planète Vulvae En haut du Mont de Vénus Vulvae c'est le coeur battant de ma Muse. Ma muse est un dragon à quatre-vingt-huit têtes Et chacune de ses têtes me sourit Et m'offre là un thé vert, là une camomille Là un morceau de pain, là un verre d'eau de vie de mirabelle, Là un ballon de vin clairet Et comme je ne veux peiner aucune de ses têtes Qui tournoient autour de moi Je les cajole toutes en faisant une fumaison de musc Ainsi comme les abeilles les têtes se calment sevrées . Des quatre-vingt-huit têtes de ma muse Qui défilent sur le podium En me faisant les yeux doux de Chimène Celle que je préfère c'est la numéro trois Bien sûr je ne le lui ai jamais dit Je ne veux fâcher personne et surtout les numéros dix-neuf et quatorze, Ces succédanés de ma Muse, Dont j'apprécie les atours virevoltants de jaune et orange. Mais Coconchine c'est ma tête préférée Mon mannequin à moi Ne me demandez pas pourquoi Sa ***** minora Sa ***** majora Sa flore vaginale Son petit air coquin et absent en même temps Tout concourt à ce que ce soit ma prima donna. C'est peut-être sa couleur qui me chavire Ce bleu océan ou outre-mer Je sens que la cyprine qui en coulera Déteindra sur mes lèvres Soudain bleues à l 'unisson de ses envies. C'est une énigme Et son énigme me fascine. C'est un condensé de Vulvae La vulve de ma Muse. C'est la Vulve rêvée, fantasmée Intemporelle comme une pierre gravée Une vulve versatile, gredine. Faussement pudique Elle bat des cils Et volette comme une nymphe De morpho bleu et léger Au-dessus des orphies qui volettent elles aussi. Elle m'invite, Elle m'a choisi, Je suis l'Elu, Son cheval barbu Elle me désire, Elle me charrie Dans les tourbillons de la cyprine Qui m'entrouvre la porte de son vestibule et en pénétrant dans ce labyrinthe Je grave de mon silex Les flammes bleues du feu qui me dévore.

57

Ah, You've pressed me to confess, so, yes, I guess, I want my **** served shaved, dished up wet and open, splayed on beds of platform heels. Got love-to-feel that sweet-meat dribble, glazed and gasping, leaking gruel, impatient jellied-tremble bursting spittle-clustered clitoratti. Feed this greed for lacquered nuzzle lusting parted, finger drummers busy down your gutted muzzle animal intensity. Gone horrid-hot to hit the sweet spot lap that fatted crown besotted, crush me to your sobbing lips, when eeling on beyond minora.. Call your gorgeous tensions in, indulge this flagrant avarice, unbuckle on this stubbled rim of gorging suppled suckle.. Come! Soak me in your gabbled tantrum, lather me in mosh-pit froth, berate my deepened questioning with everything you have... Go!, ride this wreck of chinstrap madness, **** this mess of upturned tongue and grab this gin-trap rapture with both hands.. All glory be the dying kind, who speak to creatures, long denied, expand the breadth of human mind, with epic liberations...

0

Feb 28, 2021

Feb 28, 2021 at 7:12 PM UTC

alistair-william-bullen

...thus, spoke Bacchus

Ah, You've pressed me to confess, so, yes, I guess, I want my **** served shaved, dished up wet and open, splayed on beds of platform heels. Got love-to-feel that sweet-meat dribble, glazed and gasping, leaking gruel, impatient jellied-tremble bursting spittle-clustered clitoratti. Feed this greed for lacquered nuzzle lusting parted, finger drummers busy down your gutted muzzle animal intensity. Gone horrid-hot to hit the sweet spot lap that fatted crown besotted, crush me to your sobbing lips, when eeling on beyond minora.. Call your gorgeous tensions in, indulge this flagrant avarice, unbuckle on this stubbled rim of gorging suppled suckle.. Come! Soak me in your gabbled tantrum, lather me in mosh-pit froth, berate my deepened questioning with everything you have... Go!, ride this wreck of chinstrap madness, **** this mess of upturned tongue and grab this gin-trap rapture with both hands.. All glory be the dying kind, who speak to creatures, long denied, expand the breadth of human mind, with epic liberations...

54