"necking" poems
My hungry lips started to talk
To your lips in language hungry,
As my tongue began to unlock
The well of your language sundry,
Necking your North African mounds;
Halting at your salving shell pink,
To sip and sup your winy words
And faint and wake and rise and sink
In the waking sleep of the tongues
Of your fire
To pen my un–Sufi desire
And die in the dunes of your body.
© LazharBouazzi
Sep 25, 2017
Sep 25, 2017 at 6:25 PM UTC
Indeed
It was a breakup,
‘Cuz I was only for “necking her up”,
‘Cuz I was “dead from neck up”,
Loving her was my greatest blunder,
‘Cuz she played a ***** heart plunder,
Now when I see her
Soft heartbeats become loud thunder,
Hey peeps,
She left me
For other cove,
She theft me
In name of love,
Then
I kept her
In my mind’s blocklist,
Why heft her
Meaningless memories,
Easy say
Hard in action
But I needed a “whole soul checkup”,
Indeed
It was a breakup…..
Mar 23, 2021
Mar 23, 2021 at 7:10 AM UTC
basilisk ****
nonparticular inexecrable exit
art ****
the lips on for breakfast
twilight zip entanglement
meticulous bending and sensual telepathy
fever-sickness
rock 'n roll boo-boos
lilting black 'n blues on the caboose
puppeteering every tasty ***** loose
chews the collar
thighs and necking room
bustling bussers it gives ifs
gets down with
daisy, dior, dkny, grapefruit(purple) to narcisso and pink sugar too
Bliss tainted madness
playing tug-o-war with
January's vacuum
Years of passing down groupies
to the most recent djs playing bad dubstep tunes
and that sickness of seeing iloveyou's abused
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 5:31 AM UTC
The gift of a loving and a platonic relationship.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The gift of a loving and platonic relationship
Having sorted the Philanderer or attractive
Elope if you will , be together in Gretna Green
****** lover ,being kept by a woman of means
Introduce a love potion or Philtre if you’ve one
Feast upon love if you have the energy for it.
The gift of a loving and platonic relationship
Oh too much ? I have heard , is so ******
Friends without any love making is platonic
And Platonic is OK but never satisfying
Love needs to be total never half-way
Oh the differences between loving n platonic?
Virtually all virgins are best to keep pure.
In that the longer you can stay that way is fine
Never try to keep pace with your peers
Goading and teasing you saying you’re queer
As first you really have to love yourself
Narcissism is acceptable at an early age.
Don’t you see ? Look in the mirror. Handsome !
Ask yourself a question.Am I not a fine beauty
Platonic is a name of a friend you couldn’t kiss
********** would be out of the question
Alive to the perils of the merging of the two
Torch songs of unrequited love over the radio
On an enamoured night of drinking red wine
Narcissism comes into play so frequently.
I saw it in my younger days. With pretty girls.
Collectively all trying to look the prettiest
Reality dawns upon the real responsibility .
Elevating your passion to the highest level
Let me take out the College girl every time
And talk about the meaning of life and poetry
To me the platonic relationships sustained one
In that *** never got in the way.
Only once the whole truth is established.
Necking and a cuddle in the back seat enough
*** later in life became a wonderful gift.
Having had so many platonic friends around
I think it gave me an insight to what life was.
Personally given my time over I would repeat...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Written by Philip
November 15th 2018.
Nov 15, 2018
Nov 15, 2018 at 7:36 AM UTC
My hungry lips commenced to talk
To your lips in language hungry,
As my tongue began to unlock
The well of your language sundry,
Necking your North African mounds,
Halting at your salving shell pink,
To sip and sup your winy words
And faint and wake and rise and sink
In the waking sleep of your fire
To pen my Sufi desire,
And die in the dunes of your body.
© LazharBouazzi
Oct 5, 2018
Oct 5, 2018 at 6:26 PM UTC
One of his sick molars
was jarring, crying foul,
the root canal treatment
she did, the first, on him
made it quiet,it touched
exactly the love nerve.
Love sprouted,got rooted between
the curvy dentist and him
in exactly five sittings;
the soil was fertile.
The romantic dentist seized
his pining heart too quick,
the causes and effects of
that pain, she whispered, was similar
to what she felt , when he whimpered
leaning his head on her full *******
No reason he had, not to surmise
she didn't do everything she should,
to make his ailing tooth perfect.
Coochiecooing to her, he even
called her" the tooth fairy's baby girl"
overwhelmed she gifted him a smooch.
Each sitting fallowed
soliciting that rare,tender dental care,
on her cozy swiveling chair,
brought them closer to bouts of necking
and things more adventurous,
(may the medical ethics, pardon the pair!)
Vigorous narratives she breathlessly
reeled off, on the state of his each tooth
brought her more closer to the chair
than what professionally was expected,
her perfumed warm presence
brought aches, not necessarily dental.
A stinging pain on a root repaired
at a time his 'root canal sweet heart' was away
compels him to explore for a new chair.
The horror of horrors, it was revealed
here, a piece of broken iron implement
his sweet heart, has left within the root;
a cover up as she couldn't retrieve it
with her skills inept,
it did aggravate, caused the pain!
Isn't the betrayal of the kids,
in the name of tooth fairy,non existent
far less heinous, than a cheating like this!
could any one blame him for this,
to escape a bad tooth future, he did
the best one could; the comely tooth fairy
that found the fault and mended it
shows him his place in the
swivel chair of her heart these days!
Jan 28, 2016
Jan 28, 2016 at 9:02 AM UTC
Animal House
Sweeping dust
storm,
Gazelles leap.
Careening reach,
dizzy heights
Shy Giraffes
necking in
undergrowth.
Creeping tide
menageries
mystic sloths
limb and oath.
Sea mist
breaking wave
Sun prancing
Dolphins
embraceable
moonbeams.
Lizards
shedding skins.
Trine children,
Pan animals.
Golden gleaming
processions
growling purrs
Carnivores
give
Herbivores
last rites
confessions.
We are
the animal house
the hourglass
menageries.
bleating hearts
imminent deaths,
fleeting breaths,
unimaginable
love.
Jun 22, 2015
Jun 22, 2015 at 11:43 PM UTC
Ah, where to begin, take it from the crown,
And roll down the usual bump of your bouncy hairsanality,
Teasing your cerebrum with every spin,
Then quietly continue along your slender necking with a whisper,
To gently land on the heavy shouldering of your broad world,
Resting a moment to tickle loose those knots of compassion,
Move onward carefully, tiptoe to your pendant earlobes,
Grown wise from listening freely, flirting for a subtle nibble.
Lets swing over to perch on the bow of your maple cheeks,
Held up by the strength of your Ernest smile,
A spring of rose petals on a landscape of pure snow,
Alas, how the rose must envy the radiant hue of your lips,
Now, leap off to the cushion of your ample *****
Perfect for nourishing presents of unique creation,
The pounding of your heart, speaks through, ba-dum ba-dum
Half the necessary beat to a lifelong dance, till death.
Next, a slide down the concave curves, slim fitting to your flawless figure,
To carriage at your slender swinging hips,
The favorite resting place of your healing hands,
Supporting the vertebrae that keeps strong your secure dorsal,
Start at the bottom and slowly shiver up the spine,
Only to shake back down with a relieved sigh, past the seeds of life,
And massage down sturdy legs carrying you through strife,
Come to a rest on the tip of your twinkle toes,
Those shine at the end of your lily starfeet.
With hopes that they’re moving to a compass where I mimic north,
And those bright almond eyes cast their gaze through the pane,
Your visage, making the difference between my dawn and dusk.
Jul 24, 2013
Jul 24, 2013 at 11:11 PM UTC
Workers migrate for the coast
At the first hint of holiday,
Winging their way past lorries and vans,
And coaches coated with spray ochre tans,
Flying along motorways in single file,
The music of freedom for mile upon mile.
Father steers straight with his eye on the road,
Insisting on mix tapes he made as a teen
While necking sweet girls in his imaginative dreams.
Kids shriek games on the warm backseat,
While air hostess mums offer peanuts
And cushions, and packets of sweets.
They arrive with a fuss, and a sigh of relief
While father shakes his weary feet
And the mum takes the girls for an ice cream treat.
They unload their bags of shorts and vest tops,
And the hotel looks grand, at least from the side,
But a moment of doubt creeps in, I confide.
It can’t be this nice, thought the father too late,
I bought it for tuppence, or at least so I thought,
As he read the terms of the room service bill;
The cost of cool water was like climbing a hill,
Just when you thought it couldn’t get much higher…
But I digress; it gets considerably more dire.
The room was a state and mum had a fit
Cleaning up tissues and strange looking stains,
And the girls were fighting and being such pains.
Father took a beer from the fridge,
Ignoring the cost for the sake of some peace,
And stepped on the deck to get some release.
Five seconds later he was running indoors
As the clouds broke their cover in heavy downpours.
Expecting a break, they were fooled once again.
The weekend was spent in the room like last year,
While rain and thunder spoiled all their cheer.
There’s only so many board games to play,
And the food gave the girls a sore and sour tummy
And turned the grand weekend into a desperate plea.
Please let it end, I want to return
To the office of slaves who make my life fun.
Workers return from the coast
On the third day of rest,
Splashing their way past lorries and vans,
And coaches coated with burning red tans,
Dragging along motorways in single file,
The sound of the rain for mile upon mile.
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 4:30 PM UTC
neck·ing/ˈnekiNG/
Noun: The action of two people kissing and caressing each other amorously.
Both thumbs hanging on the back pockets of your jeans
while leaning against the wall and biting your bottom lip
enticing the oasis of your tongue, your breath dying of thirst.
Your flirtatious smile already knows that it’s entitled
to the mwah’s, ooh’s and aah’s coming the way of your pout
little did you know of the kisses you could fit in that mouth.
it’s the mathematical sum of everything that’s round
it’s dancing in the rain under an infinite fall of X’s and O’s
it’s nibbling on a bottle of Hennessy before taking a shot.
While I hold your face with both hands,
my eyes never wavering from yours,
I caress your cheeks, undress your thoughts,
feverishly going in, taking all the time in the world
to taste every bit of you and savor the moment so to speak
with our senses fogged, tied up in a tangled rope, in a kiss.
Then I pull some back to slowly feel your breathing into me
your clouded lips in my fingertips are a miracle of humidity
the stripped walls of oblivion is the last frontier with will see.
Before submerging deep into the point of no return
before your ripe apple meets the delicacy of my touch
before leaving in me, flower of skin, every last drop of you.
Dec 3, 2012
Dec 3, 2012 at 6:53 PM UTC
You'll soon lose interest in walking
and talking and wearing the cap
of a fool. You'll.
Words: walk, talk, wear, cap, fool, you, soon, lose.
Idea!: Four word poems, ten
syllables per line, six
lines per paragraph. Graph.
Words: idea, word, poem, syllable, line, paragraph, per, graph.
The night I wrecked my father's car
necking with my date after the dance
inching forward into traffic
foot tapping the brake like an ********
Words: night, car, father, wreck, date, dance, neck, traffic, inch,
foot, tap, brake.
The USFS issued paper sleeping bags
like tissues during forest fires and fed us
steak and pop. All you could eat.
Words: paper, bag, sleep, tissue, fire, steak, pop, eat, food,
forest, us.
Things hurt. Pain is a message
to shut up and slow down.
Breathe deep, take care. Wait and see.
Words: hurt, pain, shut, slow, breathe, care, wait, see, deep,
message.
Just as the war
in the Iliad goes back
and forth according to Hector's
fortunes, so does marriage and a truck in mud.
Words: just, war, back, forth, fortune, marriage, truck, mud.
Fear destroys the last free assessment of life.
But what is there to fear. Death
is most of all like sleep. Death
is but a dream missed.
Words: fear, free, assess, destroy, life, death, sleep, dream, like,
but, miss.
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 6:44 PM UTC
I bet her boyfriend
Of almost two years
Wouldn't care
For the flirting,
An open seat
On a bus to DC
Has got her skirting
The edge of
Polite conversation,
Threatening to fall
With insinuating smiles
Like private Pile,
If only he knew
How many miles
Have been spent
Laughing at jokes
And breathing the sweat
Ripe with pheromones
And flashing white teeth,
With a subtle groan
He'd pick up his phone
And give her a call
With his stomach
Feeling like a stone
Thrown in a well,
But he doesn't know,
And she won't tell,
So while he's waiting
At the bus station
For her to arrive,
She's necking with
A Haitian
And thinking of lies
To deny the fire
Between her thighs.
Sep 3, 2012
Sep 3, 2012 at 10:58 PM UTC
I bet you wouldn't put those tattoos on your gravestone
Not that's it's any of my business,
But you look like an idiot,
And I heard you say that girls name and it ain't the same as the one on your neck as your necking today,
Is it mate,
And I don't mean to come across boring,
But I'm sure your mothers name ain't Tory either.
Necks covered in angel wings,
and misdemeanours;
I hope there's someone watching over you to see you make those mistakes.
It looks pretty cool though - make no mistakes.
But I can see through your thick rimmed spectacles.
Making a spectacle of yourself when you can clearly see.
A small package bugling through your skinny jeans
And of course Dr Martens,
And a quiff that's bleached.
Farewell flower child,
Don't look so amazed and glare,
When people stare at you and your down right ridiculous tattoos,
On the platform after me that's a par for you,
I was only passing through,
With naked skin,
Untouched by ink.
You would think I didn't want to leave a mark in this world were in.
Feb 13, 2016
Feb 13, 2016 at 8:45 AM UTC
Looking meticulously on a river scene of beautiful Wednesday afternoons with all of life’s luxury
Out the window is a tree bent and gnarled with visible age twice my own
The perfect metaphor of life merely eking by, postured against infinity
As another, warped by the waves and turned to termed drift wood, also catches my eye for its existential merit
As it’s all been said before perspective is our only peculiarity
At the point, or lack there of, between all and nothing
Our minds spontaneous self-revelation is miracle enough for any, god fearing be ******
As over grown and lush as the under-leaves have become it seems like a waste to cut them out now so we might as well pump them full of fertilizers and hope for the second coming
Of knowledge and growth that began in the stone age bottle necking and splurged on drugs and money during the industrial revolution.
While trying to remember the ugliest parts that were and always will be me
Lets get free, really really free
Jul 23, 2014
Jul 23, 2014 at 5:57 PM UTC
My hungry lips started to talk
To her lips in language hungry,
And my tongue began to unlock
The well of her language sundry
Necking her North African mounds;
Halting at her salving shell pink
To sip and sup her winy words,
And faint and wake and rise and sink
In the waking sleep of the tongues
Of her fire
To pen my un–Sufi desire
To die in the dunes of her body.
© LazharBouazzi, October 20, 2016
Oct 20, 2016
Oct 20, 2016 at 4:47 PM UTC
Your feet got tangled
in your own **** name
Layed
nights out end-to-end,
now you're the oldest one here drinking
in this dingy, shaking basement
by at least "a couple years or so,"
so shrink from searching eyes.
Strike up that ****** band again--
your teeth have grown tall enough
to ditch this ride
Outside,
some drunken crusty's
trying hard to pick a fight
and shadowed necking in the corners
punctuates the "Got a light?"s
like drowsy eyes and
yawning sighs parenthesize
the way you check your phone a thousand times
"Hey, don't you work tomorrow?"
Yes, I ******* work tomorrow and...
Though all these fresh-lit fuses
sizzle--
--starlight studs in leather night--
the morning leaves you spark-singed
paper, sulfur lungs
and sagging eyes
The stairway's ******* crowded
with a thousand younger yous,
feet creak the upstairs floorboards
cue the crooked smiles in familiar hues
But pigs have pens
and feet have boots.
Old hats need heads
and birds, they need their roosts
So let the lines fill in
on this fermenting face
and lay this craggy grin
into its worn-in place
beneath these creaking stairs
and let this basement shake.
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 4:05 PM UTC
I found you there, lying on the tarmac,
Dressed in a suit, your hair gelled back,
People walking by, hadn't got a clue,
Too busy in their minds, but I could see you,
~~~
Car's driving by, gesturing at each other,
Unaware of a body, lying undiscovered,
Commuters in the way, I struggle through the rush,
Stubborn moans, as they refuse to budge,
~~~
Twisting my ankle, stumbling off the kerb,
Knocked off the pavement, by this one way herd,
Calling out to you, I asked if you're okay.
You didn't respond, so still that you lay,
~~~
Checking your vitals, your eyes open wide,
Ignoring my calls, like you wanted to hide,
I call for some help, a policeman walks by,
Oblivious to us both, as you let out a cry,
~~~
More people look around, they see you there,
Rubber necking as they, gather and stare,
The policeman asked, if you were okay,
You didn't respond, so still that you lay,
~~~
Calling an ambulance, as commuters watch,
A vagrant on a bench, clutching his scotch,
People calling over, Will he be okay?
We didn't respond, so still that you lay,
~~~
Arrival of a paramedic, and an off duty Nurse,
Reading your vitals, talking chapter and verse,
Interrupting them both, we asked if you were okay,
They didn't respond, so still that you lay,
~~~
Movement of your eyes, as you whisper a sound,
A moment of silence, as you look around,
I lay down beside you, to listen to your words,
The commuters muted, in their gathering herd,
~~~
You said
~~~
The reason I'm lying in the road is....
~~~
Newsflash on the Radio,
A city sleeps,
Thousands laying down,
Refusing to speak,
We asked for an update, from commissioner grey,
He didn't respond, so still that he lay,
~~~
End of Transmission
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 2:30 AM UTC
I saw a meteor scream across the dark,
a chemical green flash above the park.
Breathless, I sought another--just one more?--
no, that was it--all quiet as before.
Thus left alone, with nothing but the smack
of waves necking with rocks behind my back,
I sank into the cool, slow-breathing grass
and shut my eyes to the star-strewn morass.
*Oh, your name is a raft,
and my mind is a lake,
and all the night I sailed that craft,
meteors trailing in my wake.*
Sep 9, 2012
Sep 9, 2012 at 5:24 PM UTC
Why, hell-oh Mr.Insecurity.
You look so attractive today,
much better than myself.
Your omniscient grip around my larynx is comforting,
you know,
comforting in the way that a tumor won't abandon you;
like a frenemy, a parasite,
feeding off of your good ideas and healthy tissues.
I love you
Mrs. Unknown Future.
Your surprises are so comical,
like a whimsical double homicide
and I am a mere rubber-necking piece of evidence
in your routine.
Dreary little Lonely comes along
stealing all the fun we weren't having.
Why must one be so selfish
with that which does not exist?
Not in spirit, nor in form,
not even in feeling or sound.
Just robbing one of the possibility of a maybe idea.
What if I wanted love?
Or a moment with the warmth of a grandma's homemade cookie.
You all rob me of the concepts I can not comprehend,
because i can not feel.
That is only a wish,
a lie,
because I do feel, too much,
but can not figure out
how to make you all leave me a sane homosapien.
May 1, 2012
May 1, 2012 at 11:05 PM UTC
Heat Lightening
by Michael R. Burch
Each night beneath the elms, we never knew
which lights beyond dark hills might stall, advance,
then lurch into strange headbeams tilted up
like searchlights seeking contact in the distance . . .
Quiescent unions . . . thoughts of bliss, of hope . . .
long-dreamt appearances of wished-on stars . . .
like childhood’s long-occluded, nebulous
slow drift of half-formed visions . . . slip and bra . . .
Wan moonlight traced your features, perilous,
in danger of extinction, should your hair
fall softly on my eyes, or should a kiss
cause them to close, or should my fingers dare
to leave off childhood for some new design
of whiter lace, of flesh incarnadine.
NOTE: The title is not a typo but a double entendre. Keywords/Tags: sonnet, rhyme, love, lust, desire, *** petting, necking, parking, date, dating, lovers' lane
Oct 24, 2020
Oct 24, 2020 at 8:34 PM UTC
Secret.
Lips sealed.
Necking stirringly - hush.
Shadow of a doubt.
Decoy.
May 24, 2019
May 24, 2019 at 5:32 PM UTC
Down in Piedmont park
lovers are necking
dogs panting
squirrels gathering
girls basking in the fiery sun
and film crews hustling to and fro,
down in Piedmont Park
the trees whisper words
to the poets curled up
on historic benches,
the grass brushes softly
under bare feet-
new borns giggling at the new feeling,
down in Piedmont Park
people live their lives
and offer little glimpses
to stories
so much bigger
than Piedmont Park.
Jul 1, 2015
Jul 1, 2015 at 2:46 PM UTC
nine novice nuns
noticed Neville necking
Netta's nape
Jul 5, 2014
Jul 5, 2014 at 7:29 PM UTC
How far from nature and life it is
the gray clouds, airplanes in them
the night cooing and pigeons roosting
Sirma's garden gone to roses and seed
That airplane overhead!
pointing the way
pointing to war
War being an aggravated condition of what
we already know
Flowering beneath the noise
of yet another jet passing overhead.
--------------------------------------
Why this much sadness in a world so beautiful?
We are sad for the weariness of everything, including earth
(that will go on tropically flowering long after we are gone)
we
who are nothing
in powerful time's
grip
history, passionate history, coffee between
neighbors.
--------------------------------------
Enter into alliance
With the sweet darkness, night!
Night and day, day and night
Everybody knows when the moon is bright.
We dance by the light of the moon
All night.
--------------------------------------
We dance by the light of the moon.
We dance by the light of the moon and setting sun.
We drive
we crow and call
three pigeons!
and make the world alive
even bricks.
Jets
two pigeons!
Milk-skinned doves
enmesh
Two gray-skinned sharks, jets,
embrace in the sky, a blue green oil truck takes
the hill, cobblestoned, in low
steady gear.
--------------------------------------
Zazen position
to remain so
unmoved
yet moved
by the stillness
the movement of the car uphill
part of your system of beliefs
unmoved by it, parked
necking in the front seat
hawks diving for pigeons' eggs
and so you are compelled to move
by the force that created you. but
you impose your own small order
departing from traditions
human history understands
a mutant
such as those currently developing
the human mind beyond its past capacities.
--------------------------------------
Two straw sandals
blue jay call
two sea gulls
--------------------------------------
The jets return
flying low.
Laying low
and breathing low
mists
of pure noise.
Aug 9, 2015
Aug 9, 2015 at 5:36 AM UTC