"pleasurably" poems
A gentle breeze
Forever remembered
A luscious glade
Cold under your feet
A rich blue sky
Seemingly unreal
Beautifully arousing aromas
Tasting without touch
Pleasingly soft sand
To bathe yourself in
A sensuous bed of leaves
To wrap yourself in
A pleasurably warm ocean
Stimulating your senses
Lustful love
Forever wanting
Incapacitating desire
Depriving your concentration
You lose yourself
In natures tempting ways
Seducing you to stay
Aug 17, 2014
Aug 17, 2014 at 1:36 PM UTC
Most of the time, I am just invisible.
Until his eyes stripped me of my honesty. Honestly,
with one look, he saw things in me, I never knew existed. Fantasy,
twisted, I read pleasures from passages of ecstasy,
that still haunt me intensely, immensely and pleasurably.
His love for me was a force of nature; that captivated me
and still holds my soul captive, as it sets me free.
Mystique meets her Majesty
Love is pain and pain is love,
as soon as I felt his pain,
I fell in love; uncontrollably.
Jan 23, 2018
Jan 23, 2018 at 9:53 PM UTC
Isn't it funny all the things in the worlds that bring you down,
My weakest moments are so pleasurably on display,
They taunt me,
Mock who I was,
And still manages to break who I am,
The worlds cruel,vindictive and lonely ways,
They've seduced me into my way of living,
To strike the skin when all else goes wrong,
The darkness has taught me to hate myself,
And I have,
I always will,
The world has their ways and their beliefs,
And I have my own.
Sep 13, 2011
Sep 13, 2011 at 4:38 PM UTC
She comes to me with
seductive expectation
in her alluring grey eyes,
Bewitchingly she crawls
onto my lap, my chest.
Our mutual desire for closeness
quickening the mood
She puts her arms around my neck,
Our eyes locked in an intimate dance.
I take her beautiful face in my hands
stroking it's soft contours, as she
closes her eyes pleasurably succumbing
to the gentleness of my touch.
She begins to softly purr.
We both understand these brief
loving moments can never last,
owing to my damnable allergy to cats,
Thus, soon back outside she must ****
Jan 28, 2017
Jan 28, 2017 at 3:04 PM UTC
Quite a picture of a happy woman ... in love ... or falling in love perhaps - two rows across me. Her earphones are plugged to her ears, but she is listening to no song. She is busy; typing messages - perhaps whatsapp!. Someone is teasing her ... must be quite adept at it. It has to be a boy ... not yet her boyfriend. Her smile ... her blushes ... are giving away the truths hidden in their secret flirtations.
She has to wrack her wits ... she must win this war of words. She purses her lips and her cheeks cave into a lovely dimple .... that flattered glitter in her eyes has enough for a novel to begin. She is determined to reply to this message and is scanning the lounge through the corner of her eyes as if we have a cue to offer. Her head tilts and a strand of hair falls across her temple curling in a single curve from her thick eye brows to her lips, presently secured between a thoughtful bite of her teeth.
The dimples are back again ... and her smile tells me that she finally has won this conversation ... and my mind tells me that while the war of words is her to win ... she has pleasurably lost the battle of hearts.
Oct 30, 2014
Oct 30, 2014 at 6:54 AM UTC
to him,
she was his escape,
his ever present lighthouse.
as shadows creeped up his vision,
he would go to her
seeking temporary paradise
in an unforgiving world
that would pass judgement
on those that failed
to meet their quota
it calmed him.
to be able
to completely surrender himself
to someone so pleasurably cruel
each whip lash,
each biting scar,
each punishing slap,
each delicious sting from candle wax,
his neck wrapped in a collar
his skin marred by abuse
yet he couldn't help but ask
for more
more
more
he would beg
and she would give it to him.
he let himself drift away
until nothing more
than welcomed thoughts of her
invaded his once clustered mind
he would do anything for her.
only for her.
that was his duty
as her loyal pet
to her,
no words needed
to be said
he was nothing more
than an animal
trained to
satisfy her
in bed.
that's how its always been
with her partners being
lustful creatures
forever seeking an outlet
for their suppressed desires
but she couldn't help
but think that this one
this insignificant little pet
would be the one
to stay by her side
then again,
that's what she thought
about everyone else before him
but she'd gladly wait
and see if
this one was any different
the least she could do
would be to enjoy herself
and savor the moment
of being able to call
this pathetically beautiful beast
as her own.
Jun 13, 2018
Jun 13, 2018 at 7:38 PM UTC
Choking on the sour taste of whisky as I say your name
My brown skin spoiled for your tongue
My heart beating to the rhythm of your drum
It calmed me to be able to surrender myself
to someone so pleasurably cruel
Going as far and as much time you permit
As your poison runs through my bones
His lips going down my neck
His breath burning my skin
Hickeys on my *******
His wandering eyes locked on my body
His hands tracing my curves
And then a stinging I felt. One that I enjoyed
You read my body's mysteries
Produce the scenes in my fantasies
My skin tied in your knotted desire
I bite my lip and press my thighs tight
And there you were, your hands around my neck
Making me light headed
Each whiplash, each biting scar
Each delicious sting from candlewax
The thin line between pain and pleasure
Only you know how to satisfy
This hunger inside of me
To make me scream and moan in sweet melody
His body was my temple
Taking pleasure as I kneel before him
And stand at his command
I knew the wetness between my legs
Would help him calm down his flames
And that his flames would cause a river
To flow down my legs
The storm inside me raging like a flash fire Consuming all in it's path
A tempest that drowns out thought and sounds
Swirling like a tornado of sensation
And I look up at him to hear his voice
The command that releases me
*** for me.
Aug 30, 2019
Aug 30, 2019 at 5:02 AM UTC
the first encounter was a blast
I've never expect that it will Last
nothing to speak but beauty and praises
I can now define happiness through coffee and braces
her legs are so **** it won't meet
the meat in the middle is what i like to eat
every after meal I always go to her seat
sharing stories of our lives with a long malicious slit
Confusion confuses the agony
emotion change like the transition of a symphony
pleasurably bad, she invaded this territory
in my hands are the conclusion of this scroll bar theory
I ought to smile when salary raises
move a mile when traveling in different places
If happiness can be found at the end of various mazes
I think I'll just walk a while, accompanied by her coffee and braces
Oct 29, 2012
Oct 29, 2012 at 3:06 AM UTC
Revering the sight of your curves in the sheets
Titillated are my thoughts to which has brought to exist
Letting the water fall emanate strongly
while having my fingers swim through simultaneously
Yours were tied down on the promises I’ve kept
Blind folded as it pleasurably gets
Trust is the bond that made us so sure
To let each other have this type of love so soon
Sensually it may come, oomph we may be are
The sight of you naked is a form of an art
Beautifully it truly is; ***** it may get
Love is the truth, no matter how hot it could get
May 15, 2021
May 15, 2021 at 7:09 AM UTC
It was the early days of the organic food craze
and my wife, ever a slave to the latest fads
(which disposition sometimes benefitted me pleasurably
but mostly cost me dearly)
made me run on an errand
(like: “Fido – go, fetch!”)
to get some organic vegetables
and arriving, I blurted out to the produce guy, stumbling:
*“Some ****** for my wife”* –
and that wise guy, Oxford-educated as he was
(though a failed Professor, so ended up at the greengrocer’s)
he said: *“That you must induce or encourage in your wife, Sir;
I cannot and will not be of service in that connection.”*
And I slowed down and I said:
“Well, dear fellow – for my wife, have you any organic vegetables?”
And Oxford-educated as he was, he did not understand such fads
having mostly a sedate and Classical demeanour
and he pointed his most English nose to the air;
and so I attempted again to sensible-phrase my inquiry:
*“Are your vegetables -
and this I ask on account of my esteemed wife -
sprayed with poisonous chemicals?”*
And the Oxford guy apprehended now, and he pronounced:
*“Poisonous chemicals for your spouse
you must procure yourself, Sir”*
Now, that was an idea. I knew Oxford-educated guys
were smart in some way or other.
And since then I have been free of my wife.
I have no need to run on errands for no baby, no more;
though I do have to count bars,
limited as my numerical skills are,
as is my verbal proficiency.
And the Oxford guy, meanwhile, I have it from the grapevine,
has set up an ******** Food Chain Store*, worldwide;
I knew he’d go places, sooner or later, far and global
Jul 9, 2013
Jul 9, 2013 at 8:06 AM UTC
The sounds are astounding
My mind is completely at its wits end
The scents of our bodies
The compassion
Unison
****** and powerful intakes
The many desires are out spoken
Pain strikingly pleasurably
Stopping is impossible
Rapid thumps
This is serious
Becoming over the top
The gasps become groans
The sounds become screams
Names
We are climbing
The ******
The ground shaking truth
The beautiful
sensual release of it all
Our minds become faint
Our bodies now in a exhausted state
The heart is pounding
We drift
Into a seducing slumber
Until we wake again
For another addicting ******
******
Leon Wolf
Sep 29, 2013
Sep 29, 2013 at 7:54 PM UTC
Pain was confused with Pleasure as Pleasure was confused for Pain.
Pleasure was related to Pain and praised for being painfully pleasurable.
Sweet, old Pain was remembered for being pleasurably painful.
Pain kissed Pleasure whenever and wherever he could.
Pleasure beautifully made love to Pain whenever and however she should, that way whenever Pain and Pleasure touched, ever so briefly, they would always keep a piece of each other, while never forgetting how close they are and will ever be.
Pain and Pleasure danced away their original definitions to come up with something more creative as intricate as their relationship.
Pain would smile and kiss away Pleasure’s tears and Pleasure would warmly bite away Pain’s infinite bruises.
Pleasure was agonizingly painful when she would attempt to show her love for Pain with her masochistic kisses and hugs.
Pain would lick Pleasure’s wounds in such a burning way, she would scream with delicious delight.
Pleasure told him: “I only let you kiss me and touch me if your lips and hands are full of intention.”
Pain told her: “I want every nibble to feel as though you are intimately writing the story of our lives on me.”
They naively thought the warm vibration between them was love: their bond that would eventually **** them both.
Jan 11, 2018
Jan 11, 2018 at 9:40 PM UTC
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, so grateful for all this overwhelming support--this motivates me to write even more--never thought people would even indulge what I write--thank you all so much <:<:<:<:<:
again you haunt again you prey
target my dreams on hopes of disarray
you know what that I like
seem to shield my tears from nights
drunk on a hell I feel I pleasurably delight
but what I don't
that biting hungover on the following bright
------ravenfeels
Apr 14, 2021
Apr 14, 2021 at 4:25 PM UTC
She waited eagerly for the
wrapper to fall off, and then
it was slowly inserted pleasurably
it was taken back.
Moaning in sugary ecstasy she
breathed heavier as she gorged on it.
All that was seen was the stick and
her lips seeped sugary delight.
She pulsated with eagerness as it
was ****** deeper within and then
playfully edged around her damp lips,
she was fulfilled and the stick clean.
"Now here is a thought that itches at the brain,
"Which lips did she devour this lollipop in,
Jun 16, 2016
Jun 16, 2016 at 10:35 AM UTC
YES. my simple biceps are purring perfectly slick immobile death
rictus wearing skulls. i needle my flesh and ink it and make it pretty
the smiling violence of my triceps
bulge distended arcs of fists. ladling terrifically through stale
air mingling vibrant vibrations
calm tigers of effortless dream making darkness my arms dance and
jolt pleasurably and every body loves
the infliction of their splendid pain;they roar and combust
suddenly at the night crafting carpals imbued to my wrists
jouncing and blustery voices thrash from throats
they love it
they love it they love it
i
'll do it some more
Sep 1, 2010
Sep 1, 2010 at 2:56 PM UTC
I'm human
And because of that
I sometimes take
The best things in life for granted
I sometimes don't realize how
Amazingly attractive you are
But I see it now
You are precious to me
Your amazing
Your kiss is amazing
Your eyes beautifully amazing
Your hug amazingly comforting
Your touch pleasurably amazing
You and everything you are
Is simply amazing
I know this and the world does too
Your simply magical
And I want nothing more
Than to spend my life magically wrapped up in you.
Jan 2, 2013
Jan 2, 2013 at 8:00 PM UTC
Been off stubbing repeatedly,
my toes,
on the raggedy twisted
sidewalks of a sinking city, not mine,
where here, my own metaphor,
is being hand delivered,
to me, for me, by me
too many cayenne creole paroles,
none of them getting me any freer
none, as of yet,
making me a free parolee
been off studying some
of what I cannot yet do,
parole in libertà,
a language cosmopolitan
of creation, via creative writing
remolding all of the dix senses
been drawn and french quartered,
drilled down, found no unknown
solace deep bedrock grown,
so doing a redistricting of the map personal,
exposing my gardens, my Doric columns,
to any passerby with the
audacity so sheer to look me
in the face direct and say
laissez le bon temps rouler!
looking to liberate my words,
looking for liberty in my words,
in a different melting *** where here
I am a semi-low semi-free
person of color called
Old Fashioned White,
looking for a seasonal hurricane
to move me along,
push me to write in a new style,
developing cayenne words
smothered in jazz à la mode
multi-flirting with multi-fluency,
searching for Experimental
mellifluous words
stolenlen from, and built upon
a thousand years of languages,
river wide delivering its mountain deep
cargo of silt, a city of words, upon it built,
just like the great Mississippi,
changing course every one
thousand years
my mouth, a river opening wide,
catching both salty and fresh,
god's love delivering,
doing the best I can,
writing real fracking poetry for poetry's sake,
not text messages of asstags
kissing nobody's ads of sad dead #hashtags,
following nobody noticeably,
but thrusting your good stuff into my orifices,
most pleasurably deep
but never parrying,
I am a poet social only in this:
my devotion to my crew
stronger every day
for and
of that particular poetry,
I can write better than anyone,
so big,
sooooooooo easy,
and that's, Steve, Bala, y'all,
how and what I'm doing
and by the way,
Putain Zang Tumb Tumb
you could look it up
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 9:32 PM UTC
And slowly washers bear me up
through the dust and into the flanks of heaven
basking in the presence of the ether
and peeling off my skin
now we are nothing
soaked in the colour of our depths
the same but the same
and so pleasurably so––
Dec 25, 2012
Dec 25, 2012 at 10:36 PM UTC
I feel naked in your eyes
skinned, dissected, analyzed
like you already know my thinking,
my secrets, the things I hide even from myself.
You must already know I'm a worrier, and I get high on anxiety like it's my ******* job.
You know that sometimes I make myself eliminate my meals in unhealthy ways to avoid love handles.
I'm almost positive that you know I feel naughty when alone at night and ease my frustration
while thinking of your body.
Your probing eyes
must see my weaknesses,
how I am only a human, a little girl who can not stand to be disliked yet will not accept affection.
Those eyes have seen my fears and insignificant dreams,
like how I wanted to teach immigrants to speak American and give my organs to small, sick children.
Your mind must have some opinion of it all,
all of me, my characteristics and problems and how they mate to create my personality and mannerisms.
I feel so judged and critiqued under your scientific stare,
but the way your eyes stay still and barren, void of all emotion
makes me feel that you are an epicenter of passion that craves to bite into my skin
and I want to let it happen.
May 18, 2012
May 18, 2012 at 10:45 PM UTC
Why?
Why would you ever think that you could ever mean that much to me?
You stare at the ink-spattered glove moving across my face.
No, it isn't the smudged mascara of a thousand tears cried there.
Not the dried stain of a
Rainy. Dreary. Day.
So sorry to most pleasurably disappoint
And what have you there? Gleaming in your keeper's eye?
You dress it up and dangle it about my head like a cicada flittering on a string during hot Argentine, incense filled nights.
I burnt my finger once lighting the incense for nightly prayer.
That summer I blamed my isolation on what the burn had left: a large, sticky, unsightly welt.
The only trace of blind, naive, ignorantly whole-hearted belief.
My slightly, yet debilitating, wounded hand prevented my holding or shaking of any new body, or old body's hand.
But perhaps I only speak out of the need for a scapegoat?
Still, I hid the finger in tightly fastened bindings, as if to shut out just one more imperfection.
As if my inborn afflictions simply were not enough.
I could not stand one more earth inherited crack, nick, or stitch.
My empty, wounded, prideful hand wrapped around a cold, night sweat ridden glass.
The odor of vinegar, my makeshift poultice, rose to greet me.
To seat me. To allow the painful memories to slowly pick at and eat me.
Zealously. They make a feast of me.
Night after sarcastically lonely night.
But
Why?
Why would you ever think that you had ever meant that much to me?
Feb 12, 2013
Feb 12, 2013 at 5:16 PM UTC
Upon idolized lips I gander
Such flesh quite pleasurably divine
Within their hymns I seek to pander
Upon idolized lips I gander
Brandishing lustful hints of banter
An appetite dawns for your design
Upon idolized lips I gander
Such flesh quite pleasurably divine
May 30, 2012
May 30, 2012 at 2:58 PM UTC
My psychic energies are energized , warm, and strong
Signaling waves of physical feeling, warmth of a beating heart felt, and ****** moves exchanged.
Though miles apart, we are physically and in soul, together.Real.
Our blood flows through our veins and we appear to each other as our bodies sweat and touch is fused and cannot be changed.
The lightening sounds as we make love over waves so real
Sensual rhythms so bold and understandably near
we fuse together.
Real love and the desire for one another satisfied
as the remote seduction pleasurably brings our bodies to wet and desired ******
Forever.
We long for our lives to become just as fused as our psychic bodies..
we know the attraction is here…
we both ****** under a huge yellow moon….
as destiny dictates the night of lust and also deep love
between two people from two far away places
Sweat draws full and near…
Our hearts begin to swoon….
as we celebrate our need and wanting for one another
in pure exotic form..
we are now physically and soulfully an art-form alike no other..
The ritual of the senses is a fire that rages on..
Until we return to our originating soul’s taken up places….
We know we never need to feel alone or deep in separation from our bodies..souls…and love..
For we can fly, at will, remotely to greet one another as our eyes
lock
as we enjoy admiring one another’s beauty and faces.
Oct 22, 2019
Oct 22, 2019 at 10:24 PM UTC
We set off nice and slow, I was nervous, uncertain.
Don’t get me wrong, I knew what I was doing,
I had ridden before, but nothing like this.
She was so beautiful, the best I’d ever had,
Trembling beneath me I knew she could move.
She responded delightfully to my delicate touch.
With accomplished skill I flicked HER gears,
Feeling her pull a little as we truly got underway.
Negotiating the first deceptive bend,
She gave a little shimmy, a sensitive wiggle,
Forcing a tightening from me, till I gathered her up.
Assuredly taking full control once more.
Hands gripping her firmly, slowly twisting the throttle.
She bucks; growls pleasurably, we are as one.
Revelling in wilful abandonment;
Gliding in unison, so enjoyable.
Cornering sweetly, high exhilaration,
missing NOT a single beat,
Accelerating at speeds-illegal,
Too soon, too soon,
Our destination arrives.
Catching my breath I tease the brakes and relax.
Tension flowing from me; while she: she purrs like a wild cat.
I know we made good time as I gently apply the clutch,
Easing her down through the gears, she gives a little SHuDDER.
I dismount, sighing, smiling, a playful slap, yes,
Acknowledging mutual appreciation,
Already anticipating another ride,
And believe me,
It was a ride.
©Paul Chafer 2014
Mar 7, 2014
Mar 7, 2014 at 4:15 PM UTC
after enough charred inhaling and stuttered swallowing
and after the invincibility of the act evaporates
your biceps begins to sag and your mind stops moving
it’s you suddenly find yourself hovering through the days
and time is subjective and all things are subjective
and so what if you don’t do that because everything’s just particles in your brain
slapping against one another to make the flickering pictures of this world
and then once every few days you shake your head and stand up
and say I’m gonna do something! but keep the same diet
and revert to the same state of synthetic zen-like denial.
you sit on a silent conveyer belt as hours pass
and things happen around you but you see them through a lens
a film onscreen, pleasurably cathartic, but your soul’s still in the theater
watching from a stained, sticky seat some dimensions away
and the heckler’s behind you won’t shut up
and they keep you from focusing on the movie itself
and your peripheral vision becomes distinct
and you find yourself aware of the speakers and exit signs
and the slight dust and film grains splashing in front of your view
and you think of this as an ephiphany
instead of Brechtian distanciation at its most curdling.
then your brain starts feeling like a frisbee
and your body is the monkey in the middle
trying to grab at it but it tires out
and the bullies run away with it
and your left with a black hole in the head
laying in complacency in front of a shimmering cube
sounds and images with no correlation or relevance
pondering your higher knowledge of all things around it, around you
and giggling to the echoing cobwebbed corners of the room
about the ignorance of those not privileged to the same diet.
Jul 12, 2010
Jul 12, 2010 at 11:23 PM UTC