"pleasuring" poems
<>
No, He said.
I want you
wanting.
*I want to taste the miracle of your desperation,
need,
lick the sweet sweat of tense from the hairline well hid
on the back of your pleasuring neck.
I need your needing constant completion,
but not succeeding.
The airborne aroma of your desires are fiery, arousing,
stimulus sensating me by the unending beauty of dissatisfaction,
this virus desirous, infection, makes my perpetual wanting
for an incomplete perfect woman,
forever seeking betterment,
perfectly complete.*
<>
Nov 16, 2017
Nov 16, 2017 at 12:54 PM UTC
My focus,
pays attention,
to the tension,
as I plays with your mind,
pulling on the cords between your legs,
playing game like Syman says;
the temptation building in your eyes,
I can sense it from a mile,
touching on your lips with my lips,
as our bodies form allies --
burying my fingers deep inside,
your opulence is my wine.
pleasuring your body with my mind,
using one finger at a time,
your mind wonders --
as the ****** climbs.
painting visions of pleasure,
tingling between your thighs,
force your mind to cross the line.
Dec 19, 2015
Dec 19, 2015 at 12:32 PM UTC
Wake up pleasured, I feel it as you lick my
Stiffness awoken from sleep,
"ARRR,
Your tongue feels rough, but I like it woken
Pleasured from my sleep.
I open my eyes turn my head to the side
There you are still asleep, panic on a face,
As what is under the sheets still pleasuring
Me more, just one more minute, NO....
Under the sheets I do look woken by pleasure
But not any more.
There are two pussy's I see as I look under the
Sheets, one shaved, one hairy and its the hairy
One licking while looking at me.
I am pleasured, but animal style, this cat is out
The door. Violated am I, never to tell the woman
I love, that another ***** has pleasured me nearly
Releasing the milk that would have made it purr.
Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 6:46 PM UTC
The release; so powerful; sometimes to feel alive: all you need is a reminder:
His guiding hand:supplying the demands to the upper-hand, across her belly button, to forbidden; lands. Parted lips, her pink folds;dragging his hands down. Working each other: we ain’t fooling around; our bodies, over time. Dripping wet with desire.
Her reaching back; she leaned back. Over the edge; of the bed. standing ***** Picture perfect; she’s holding her breath, as he’s kissing on her neck, her breast, focused on her ****** the left. Right in my mouth. Long ponytail, pulled to the left. She is wet, under there, her underwear - pulled to the side, exposing her underhair; shaved bare, under there.
Fingers wrapped around him. Looking hard, she found it; tugging on it. Him pushing his luck got her pressing her lips against him. Pulling his belt out of way; biting his lips, he’s tensing. She, kiss as she play. looking a certaining way; tempting how she tempts him. She’s over the top, and its so overwhelming.
She’s all touched, from touching it; so fortunate, her ******* soaking wet, juices flowing. Wet spots, he’s all over it. Exposing her **** to his fingertips: with his index; middle finger next. Started working her slow, building up to raw *** Pressure building, rising her chest. She’s worked up; trying to get off. Giving it our best. Her waistline, being pumped from behind, so smooth; the finest wine. Unsatisfiable rhythm, keeping them inline. Holding onto her waist, he’s so online; bending backwards, pleasuring each other, every time. Some may come and go, but they come together every single time.
He’s feeling it: the way its feeling, feels so good - a burning sensation: her tenderness subduing his manhood; all is well, so it must good. Movement, with quickness, once his hips shifts, its motion sickness. Stroking his egos, increasing his stiffness, filling her deep. She’s clenching him, tighten, tighter. The feeling of him growing, she’s feeling him insider. Their wet bodies, skins glistening in the their fire.
Jul 4, 2014
Jul 4, 2014 at 11:05 AM UTC
*all my life i held a dream
of a woman i would love
of course
she would be alluring
supple
a charming countenance
erudite, with an angelic face
her body
a muscular stretching willow
arching her legs over head
kissing her own
curving soft feet
a graceful contortionist
in confetti colored sparkle pantyhose
stretching towards me
silken hair draping a perfect symmetry
with spun sugar kisses
wafting the scent of vanilla
and candied vaporous breath
lips like cherry lozenges
but
one never knows ones destiny
i met her
my girl destiny
and except for a faint look of languor and ruin
with a tinge of withering
she was without doubt unbearably titillating
with razor-thin blackened lips
mascara slits for eyes
hair pulled straight back
jet black
jelled like hardened licorice
with satanic blood rivulets
and pitch fork tattooed ****
a vice of lechery
a malefaction of moral turpitude
her *** scarred from orgiastic beatings
her **** became
like a large wrinkly mouth
resembling the face of a bullfrog
from pleasuring herself with
tableware cutlery
her soul
a broken creel
suffering bouts of anxiety
like a weeping moon
having been institutionalized
in Mother Marys Hell House
from a ghastly bout of parricide
her father,
a hobbling gloomish troll
while the dark veins of mother
ran through her soul
leaving little choice
but to dispatch
the parents
abandoning their corpses in the kitchen
like strewn litter
turned out
just my
kinda
girl
d
e
s
t
i
n
y
May 14, 2017
May 14, 2017 at 9:14 AM UTC
She made me wear
A pink french maid's uniform that day
I had to wait on her and her black stud lover Tyrone
Fix them drinks and make them dinner
These are the duties of the ***** cuckold
It's hard to be inferior to him
He is so well-built and powerful
A perfectly sculpted body
A large and powerful manhood
He is every woman's dream
She reminds me that no beautiful woman
Will ever want to be with a ***** like me
That my manhood is too small
That my *** drive is too low
Nature has dealt me a bad hand
I sit by the bedroom door
This time I am not allowed to watch
She only told me that they would be doing it **********
I sit next to the door
I hear her load moans and sighs
I know he is pleasuring her
In ways I never could
My goodness
Forty-five minutes have passed
And they are still going at it
I peer through a crack in the door
He is so powerful that he can hold her up
As he thrusts deep inside her
I am not strong enough
To have *** in the standing position
What a man he is
He can squat 300 pounds
And has a strong powerful ***
Look at him ******
She screams in ecstasy
After she is finished
She will tell me how wonderful he was
As I polish her high heels
After he leaves
I have the humiliating and exciting task
Of giving her oral pleasure
These are the duties of the ***** cuckold
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 10:44 AM UTC
**** it throbs
My ***** gets moist.
Oh how I wish
To get eaten tonight
My desire is high my thoughts
Array
My hopes of pleasure
Makes me sway
******* are like fine wine
As you start to make me
Grind
My hips are bucking my back goes arched
I start to squirm
My *** now explodes
My juices now drip down your face
You look up at me and say
My goddess how I love your taste
May I have the honor of pleasuring you in every way
Why sure thing my dream guy
Oh how I crave your tongue
I know you want some
Come on do your thing
My how I love this game.
Mar 16, 2017
Mar 16, 2017 at 8:46 PM UTC
And finally
After time seemed
suspended,
We looked into each other’s
Longing
Lusting
Eyes and leaned in,
Tentative
Tantalizing
Taking sharp breaths.
Every time skin
skimmed skin,
a sizzling segment
was breed from
blazing bodies.
Each exhale
Was inhaled
By the other
And turned into steam
With every kiss,
Blood vessels boiled, burst
Burning a trail
Made of ice and fire
Hands shook
Fingers trembled
Bodies meshed
Heads thrown
Eyes closed
Slowly.
Softly.
Panting
Pleasing
Pleasuring
Playing
We were just toys
And we liked it that way.
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 11:18 PM UTC
My oh my , dear oh my
Why sole me , deliberate shy
Arrouse me in meself inner sanctum
To cause penises go wild erectum
Why me frail and naive
Touched and grabbed feels so tactile
Breached and pinched gets me unleashed
Fortold and shadowed narrows me leached
Oh how i humble and crumble for pain
Pleasuring may not be enough, but not in vain
Showering me until it rains
Pumping my blood through my veins
Widely and unique i scorge and emerge
Make me *** till i purge
Bright and shiny i humbely traverse
For a non-stoping reverse
Apr 6, 2010
Apr 6, 2010 at 3:54 AM UTC
If they taunt me
I'd flaunt myself around them
I'd mesmerize everything I had with
if I were to be a lesbian
I'd say that would be pretty amazing..
loving your own type
falling for your own kind
like forever? Could you?
you,the one pleasuring youself
with late night ************ process
is the one that complains?
when someone gives same pleasure
to the one, of their type
you'd say NATURE that's not fair
oh ! Selfish creature
how could you wish the world be same?
straight is not a gender,so isn't gay,lesbian
we all are human,that's what matters
if you couldn't accept people loving their own kind
you'd better start hating yourself
cause they are loving themself
like you do at late nights
so if I were to be a lesbian
that wouldn't be problem for my kind.
Nov 2, 2014
Nov 2, 2014 at 11:47 PM UTC
To us, time does not belong
And since reality is wrong...
Live with me in legacy
You're so close already
Residing in memory
Only a hearts twinge and without cringe
My pleasuring in teaching to uke
A warranty insurance for a more creative you
Ill stand on the needle of your thread, fixed and stable without dread
Get tied up and dragged around by your apron strings
Feel the chain around your neck swing as it stings and swings
Be what your tongue tastes when taking all varieties of temperature
Be the brush you use to finish assignments when they get to be too much
As wine deminshes and glass comes clear, take the role of servant, pour countless refill, until you're ready to be bed in achieving complete fulfill
Rest assured, If you feel fear or need a mirror, allow me to transform into reflection to tell you how beautiful everything you wear
and how to me
you are so dear
Jun 20, 2018
Jun 20, 2018 at 8:23 PM UTC
Your grandmother wants to be friends on Facebook.
hey you,
can’t recall where or how i know ya,
but your grannie is very kewl,
(we agree on the proper pronunciation)
boldly asked if that included “benefits,”
she heartily answered **** right”
“one man is pretty much as good as the next,
but younger is definitely better, and you a spring chickadee,
at age of sixty years and three,
so many years ahead to share,
your social security bene-fits,
making me swoon
and giving me ‘flashes ‘n fits’
and given your life expectancies,
spousal wud be nice,
even ain’t a necessity,
looking forward to pleasuring your company”
**remind me again,
where do I know you from?**
shoot.
HELLOOOOO POETRY!
Aug 5, 2018
Aug 5, 2018 at 4:35 PM UTC
rapture
derived
in every note
the music
of the seductive flute
beguiling
enchanting
to love's ear
all embracing
the beauty
is to hear
enfolding
caressing
with a chord
pleasuring
dear
a tone
woven
so
near
Jan 17, 2017
Jan 17, 2017 at 1:00 AM UTC
Sitting by the kitchen sink
Waiting to cleanse thy hand
Best not to take a drink
For it may taste very bland
Washing the worlds worries away
Warming is its partner accompanying
All the bubbles drifting astray
Pleasuring the hands of even a king
Whirling down the drain
Healing small wounds
Easing the hand of pain
All will be better soon
The glory of Soap is true
For all people, me the king, and you.
Nov 18, 2014
Nov 18, 2014 at 7:42 AM UTC
Vibing;
large hands,
guiding her hips
She's mounted,
Straddled there, She's riding
poised above—
Her movements eager, fervent,
Grinding;
Against him, she presses with need,
Finding pleasure in the rhythm they feed.
With his fullness embraced between her thighs,
They both seek their peak in each other's eyes.
Colliding;
Pleasuring herself, pleasuring him,
In the depths of desire, together they swim.
The satisfaction mirrored in her gaze
Captures the essence of their shared blaze.
Aug 5, 2024
Aug 5, 2024 at 11:58 PM UTC
http://hellopoetry.com/search/poems/?q=Betterdays
**as is my wanton wont,
when stumbling
upon a new voice,
the passed baton
is herein handed off**
am old man.
my poetic voice is just
memories that are
repetitive lies and lines.
speak in simple sentences declarative.
this is nature's way.
darkness approaching is indeed my
au courant poem, mon actuellement.
I have seen better days.
I have read betterdays.
now I am upset, distraught.
here come another young
hot bright votive voice,
and I am being asked to believe that there are
still words that raise hopes of
betterdays.
her bed chip crumbs, delighting,
leave crumbs of pleasure in my soul.
l like her big word poems,
that leave me, fill me by:
*siphoning all in a parched gluttony
leaving behind a viscous residue
and few glassine portals
into a reflective world*
better yet I love her
mothering little god poems,
letting me remember little boys
who once loved a father
*little god love
radiant is thy smile,
smallboy love, exudes from you,
like a flower god's nectar,
bestowed, with negligent love,
upon a mother's world.
i will drink my fill,
everyday, whilst i can,
for far to soon will you
grow up.*
don't speak eastern Australian,
tackers and doona's, no clue,
blue cats are a foreign breed,
but the cat of this starfish mother,
shares my literary tastes:
*him, nestled,
on the second, to
uppermost stay,
of the third
bookshelf,
in the study.
he has filed
himself,
between,
ogden nash
and proust
and it is there,
he plans to stay.*
let me not go on and in deeper, lest
I delay you from her pleasuring
thy tasted untested senses.
so here I am all grumpified
(at my age, you can make up your own words)
unsure if un or satisfied,
knowing that a woman,
word whips me into a
soothing frenzy of creamy
morning coffee verbosity,
a captive taker of life's
ungrandest moments,
poems of them,
make to glory come.
somewhere in the world,
a woman writes of plain goodness
of simple strife and simple lives,
makes methinks that there could be
betterdays still ahead,
better poets surely, than me,
and the day starts well
Mar 29, 2014
Mar 29, 2014 at 8:50 AM UTC
~for better days for the poet betterdays~
mournful tunes play silently, but still too often,
eyes wet but in corners kept, recurring then the
memories, keepsakes, letters, books, small trinkets,
not dusty, but dusky, resting on in-between ledge of a
mountain-sized twilight of well lit shadowy haziness,
edgy dark brilliance, a comprehensible contrast non-comprehendible
tunes that bless with equal measures of grief,
comforting, by memorable card flashes of good relief,
a dividing line, hazy and frequented crossed, a sort of path,
with no destination signaled, as if the path itself was an end,
to a meaning, a solution, with no clarity divined, a division
of sight and insight, providing an ill fitting reconciliation
mourning is electric, morning is electric,
letters, words bottled up in evaporating perfume bottles,
seeking the comfort of dissipation unto a larger atmosphere,
the scent in everything tangible, stronger still yet, in intangibles
that can erode but never ever fail to return instantly when voked,
by vision, odor, a particular child’s smile, line in a poem volunteered
recovered, uncovered, a post first writ to be written, discovered,
when time and place coincidentally breathe together, at last,
beckoning you to places where memory serves only as a pleasuring,
upright mind marker, decorated in chains perpetual reforging,
absent pain, gleaming dreamings full-replacing longings for pasts,
new verses composed, passing, a grand addition to a child’s legacy
May 18, 2019
May 18, 2019 at 8:50 AM UTC
Sees yourself on a pleasure
You use soap during shower
Bubbles everywhere, romantic and ******
Pleasuring yourself with
Yeah tasted really unspeakable
Clean yourself then washing it
Washed every moments
Although keeps coming back over
Feels again. Fill yourself with
Covering yourself in romantic and ******
Yes till on top....releases all those pleasure
That hold you
Don't stop. It is unstoppable.
Oct 1, 2011
Oct 1, 2011 at 12:35 PM UTC
“the pleasuring words”
~
are not of necessity singularly complected or of one nature
know them by many other names, colorations, languages,
throat growling purring, pretty soft and stern, singsong,
begged borrowed stolen, barked and pleaded
but when the eyes quietly say,
come to me
darling
in manner unspoken,
the pleasuring of the silence
greater than if sullied by a vocalization,
the wild sounds my heart commit
pounding mounting ever louder,
requiring no translation, though with repetition,
they grow louder
with every heart throbbing,
a new language relearning
the pleasuring words are spoken
by silent eyes when you
call me by my other name
my
darling
Aug 12, 2018
Aug 12, 2018 at 12:10 PM UTC
I don't know why I like the floor so much,
Maybe it's because you taught me that
This is where I belonged,
And where I was the most productive,
As though pleasuring you from my knees
Was any indicator of my worth.
But I have discovered many things
From this vantage point.
I have noticed a crack in the floorboard
Beneath which I hid every love letter
You ever tucked into my mailbox,
I have discovered a locked box
Hidden beneath my bed
And I don't know what's inside it
But it shakes and rattles and screams
Every night around two am,
So I'm afraid to open it,
I have found a marble under my dresser,
One of those clear ones
With something colorful inside,
But it looks more like blood and tissue
Than anything, in my opinion,
I have also came upon a spot
In which the floor does not creak,
And it always seems to be cold,
A perfect place to rest my cheek.
But the last thing I uncovered
Was a skeleton in my closet,
Folded and tucked into the corner,
As though it didn't want to be found,
So I found the strength,
To lift myself to my knees
(It was always a powerful position)
And I pulled the skeleton out,
And despite its efforts to clamp its bony fingers
To my wrist and never let me go
I threw it in the dumpster,
And rediscovered home.
Aug 13, 2013
Aug 13, 2013 at 3:08 PM UTC
~
Bala^ comments:
"alignment - any which way one can if possible to make
****** and *********** simultaneously happen,
without any best position plan"
~
*may all the gods bless you, Bala,
for waking me at 4:33 with this poetic induction
coaxed from my spinal fluid sanity
with perfected clarity
my own circadian rhythm masters internal,
the most reliably unreliable human container technology teachers,
semi-skilled in the entrainment arts for this impoverished body mine,
deem it appropriate that early morn messages of
propitious possibility be greeted immediately
entrapped, awaken me at four AM with great glee,
because these elusives^^ know exactly what stirs
this being's cochlear cockles into birthing a
poetic cookie ******** ***********
your message meme provoking, inducing,
be honest man - simply seducing, my within
by your teasing words from without*
"without any best position plan"
*not to confuse the mere appearance of a routine
as worthy of the entitlement of "plan,"
much as the poem's own vanity chooses it own alignment
the relationship, the relativity -
always the
flexing flummoxing freaking insatiable pleasuring
when your thrusting unplanned message
****** and bests my brain,
releasing a fully formed, instantaneous parrying poem
from an aroused, passing, unsanitized, second of sanity
for no better *** than this...
as per the unplan?
this tissued life,
this in and out
of punching and counterpunching continuous,
but rarely contiguous,
for we are never aligned for more than a moment,
the moment that almost always goes unnoticed,
for the heart's ***** tissues,
are mostly torn by how life
uses us roughly
so here is an aligned confession fecundity
this poetry gig, my salve,
to tenderize the daily redness,
the irritation residual of having no plan
however these fingerprints decided for you,
to present, upon completion,
this soft-spoken loud ***********
a peaking, not a leaking,
** ** ** - a screaming
hallelujah, i'm aligned!
the man found albeit briefly
a beat, a plan and its verbal, herbal,
best solution
may all the gods bless you, Bala,
for waking me at 4:33 with this poetic induction
coaxed from my spinal fluid sanity
with perfected clarity
the man and his plan, for a mega-second
his best,
unplanned but got and given,
in poetic planetary alignment
positioned
as are you and I -
the thousands of miles of distance tween us
as you read this
collage collapse
into a singular synapse
of ****** and ***********
hallelujah, we are aligned!
~
**disclaimer:
anything you say to me, can and will be used
for a poem**
~
5:55am
April 1, 2017
Apr 3, 2017
Apr 3, 2017 at 4:16 PM UTC
Words hang from twisted emotions like blossoms from a garland,
Dropping, then gathered into sentences to be delivered as expressions.
Discussed and considered, feelings form, fear or confusion arises.
Happiness, delightful excitement is offered.
To be taken and sensed, or dismissed and forgotten there's always the choice between trusting or suspicion.
Belief is difficult when experiences are dampened with pain and hurt, not fulfilling.
A chance for happiness perhaps, amongst the chaos that is reality.
Respite from the toughness, see the lightness offered through kindness and love.
Non judgemental consideration and beauty, helps the pain and emotional restriction.
To give is wonderful, to be able to accept is incredible.
Too many words have been spoken in early excitement, from the heart rises love, desire and need.
The head overflows, logic disappears to be replaced with more of the same, belief forming.
The sense of being, confused by the strength of the connection and depth of feeling.
Joined in natures embrace and pleasuring touch, joy, happiness and deep, deep emotion intermingle
Searching for understanding, a meaning, is there one or is this just how it is for now?
Nov 25, 2012
Nov 25, 2012 at 10:44 AM UTC
I love to be in hot summer's sunlight,
cause I know shadow isn't made for me,
I'm just happy with the black clouds,
cause I know rain isn't made for me,
I'm contented by the pleasuring waves of aroma,
cause I know the soft touch of flowers isn't made for me,
I love the darkness of night,
cause I know the stars & the moon ain't present for me,
& so sitting here,
I'm satisfied with what I have,
cause I know even if I'm unsatisfied,
these butterflies of happiness will never be back for me,
& after a while,
they will fly away,
& will go forever,
& won't come back for me.....
Jul 19, 2018
Jul 19, 2018 at 2:56 AM UTC
when you love,
you’re a country,
pierced by daily border
exchanged crossings,
to your closest neighbor
and though,
one rerun~returns home by night,
to your prior defining borderlines,
somehow
the externals of the container has
had its internality's modified
for the lines that prior defined
have altered
by passing the
point of prior,
now by thousands of
tiny holes breaching the
thickened protective lining,
by love punches ‘n kisses of
pinprick punctures
the resistance,
pulverized
<>
you are changed,
new language combos spoken,
embrace another with a
bilingual tonguing,
a real treat
to entreat each other and
that hyphen,
that little tiny
linear
~
punctuation mark is
reflecting your creativity of a
Singular Duality
it is mark that
speaks to a new
U~no individuality,
blended and connected
somehow a duo of
someone’s pulverized lines
forms a single stronger
chord
first a puncture
then a patching
finally
an adhesion pleasuring
and a new working word:
composite
the opposite
of
opposite*
Nov 14, 2024
Nov 14, 2024 at 7:26 AM UTC