"plumpness" poems
The Melanin in our Skin
The Plumpness of our Lips
The Honey of our Eyes
The Span of our Hips
The Shine in our Smiles
The Power in our gentle Minds
The Care in our Hands
The Love in our Hearts
Makes Us Queens
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 5:52 PM UTC
I pull your ******* to my chest
And feel your heart beating oh so fast
I cup my hand upon your ***
And mash your mound into my mass
I hold you captive in my grasp
As I spread you legs apart
I savagely kiss your trembling lips
And bite the plumpness I find there
I pull and tug upon your hair
Force in your mouth down with care
BETTER NOT CHOKE or I will glare
As you finish up with sips
I throw you over and grab your hips
And enter you from behind
You are gasping but I surely do not mind
I pound your rim and one more time
And *** once more as you reach behind
To touch my finger tips
I twist you around and grab your knees
And pull you into to me
I raise you up and sting you like a bee
And I put my thorn in so easily
I take my fill for free
And toss your shivering hulk back across the bed like you are nothing now to me
You lay upon the crumpled sheets
You lay used and oh so worn
You hair a sticky mess , that of a baby born
You lip bleeding softly , while I look on with such scorn
You slowly spread your legs like butterfly wings adorned
Saying,"Won't you come back and do it all again ."
Nov 30, 2014
Nov 30, 2014 at 9:07 AM UTC
your blood shot eyes
so red and round
their juicy plumpness compels me
to eat my baby tomatoes
the pungent smell
of your ***** second-hand smoke
fills me with desire
for some beef jerky
the sickly sight
of your slimy, greasy hair
leave me desperate with longing
for some succulent string cheese
when you scarf down your food
as if the world was ending
i can feel my partially digested turkey sandwich
make its way back up my throat
and spew out
all over your yogurt
ruining it
calculus.
(co-authored)
Apr 20, 2013
Apr 20, 2013 at 2:36 AM UTC
Thoughts are drenched in raw feeling
I’m daydreaming
My mind ponders, wanders
...I want to fly a kite with you
I want my head on your lap as you sit crossed legged against a tree, reading me poetry
I want you to hold the book with one hand while the other rests on my chest, occasionally stroking my head
Or I take it in mine, fluidly palm to palm till fingers entwine
Thumb stroking thumb, feeling textures on fingertips
The smoothness of your nail against my skin
I want to see reflection in your lambent eyes at sunset and sunrise
Against powerful rays and calm of night
I want to know what those eyes see
I want familiarity, of your kiss
How gentleness craves the plumpness of your lips
Where confidence grows, connection is slowed...
I want to fly a kite with you.
Jun 28, 2018
Jun 28, 2018 at 9:04 AM UTC
Sister
By no relation except
The melanin in our skin
The plumpness of our lips
The cocoa of our eyes
The span of our hips
Sister
Except she didn't recognize me
So when I scolded her she didn't see the love in it
She was defensive
Mistook me for the enemy
Although I was trying to be her shield
It took a while
To separate her sister
From *****
A few interventions
For her eyes to open
For her mouth to pause from
words of venom to
listen to me explain
I am her sister by no relation.
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 8:17 AM UTC
When I was growing up I did not like barbie dolls.
I did not like the harsh edges of her collar bones or the plumpness of her perfectly pink lips.
I liked stuffed animals.
I liked the texture,
I liked how gentle they were.
You called me your barbie doll,
But guess what?
I am not sharp edges,
I am not perfection.
You called me your barbie doll,
But how does perfection have bags under her eyes that are as dark and heavy as the depression that fills her?
How is perfection bright hair and dark eye makeup?
I wanted to be your stuffed animal.
I wanted to be comforting at 2am after you wake up from night terrors.
I wanted to be loved.
But instead of loving me you crumbled me.
I was your ****** up,
Unconnected poetic thoughts.
I am not your barbie doll.
I am not perfection.
Yes, I may be crumbled but **** i have learned to love my creases.
I am not an object,
I am not your object.
I am not a barbie doll nor stuffed animal.
I am Athena Grace.
I am my own goddess.
Sep 29, 2015
Sep 29, 2015 at 10:26 AM UTC
arching my back
the sparks fly
like shaved metal
off of my sternum
as something
like happiness
flecks through
in metal firebuds
that screech coming
over me as a
wave washes
through my
molecular structure,
inside the libations
held up to the
small goddesses
running through
the rush of
the chainsaw shrieks
of bloodstream
now a fomenting river
of tiny waves
cresting made up
of my tears
shed all through
the mineral-encrusted
night
Now those tiny deities
with singing plumpness
of breast and thigh
indigo radiating
from their third eye
are dancing
inside my being
as I strive to catch
the shadows that
only just surrounded
me in that last hour
of plague
of chasm-patched torment
tears insulating me
until I could not see
for the steam
just on the edge
of inability to
contain my
filtered out
pre-injected rage
Here I now sit
a few inches above
the grasslands
lotus in each palm
pumped
with manifestation
in my very fingers
of life
Dec 11, 2016
Dec 11, 2016 at 6:53 PM UTC
The last time we met it was raining
and the stampede of raindrops on the roof
must have made it hard for you to hear.
I had wanted to tell you about my mother
how I wasn’t yet five feet tall
when she was six feet under.
Lover, listen.
Incurable illnesses cannot recognize
the plumpness of an over ripe nectarine
from the plumpness of a woman’s breast.
And the last time we met I don’t think you heard me say
that my name is Amelia
because you kept moaning Sarah.
Now, lover.
I understand the impossibility of moving on
but I’ve run out of excuses to make.
There’s no Lauren or Patrice
just me in these sheets.
Lover, please.
Pick me.
Sep 3, 2015
Sep 3, 2015 at 1:42 AM UTC
They said, I should pretend that she was sleeping
That dying wasn't so bad
And I should have faith,
Hope,
That she would wake up
To cradle me in her arms again
But she didn't.
The tubes crawling under her skin
Only grew in numbers.
This would be her fight
Struggling by herself
Her foes outnumbering her
Slithering down her throat
Suffocating her,
They make her breathe
Gliding under her soft skin,
They are nourishing her
They are inside of her!
She looks like life has almost left her,
And now, the snakes **** out the last of all that is her
Her warmth
Her softness
Her plumpness
They say it isn’t so
But I am not blind
They say, it might not be too late,
But only Rigor Mortis is late
Nonetheless, he will come
Along with his hooded brother
Just because her limbs are not stiff
Does not mean she hasn’t passed limbo
Jun 22, 2014
Jun 22, 2014 at 1:37 PM UTC
All the worst things in life
Start with a:
A-social
A-theist
A-sexual.
A-bominations to be corrected, but,
And although, in the hands of a body
The blame must go
Tight-gripped and freely clasped
A smile hangs like a necklace.
For, they ask, what grows,
On what shore that glance a thirsting road
Where no artisan of wells
Lets run his craft
Burst with life?
What vines may couple, transect dead veins
Still in a bed of salt
But dead and grey shades of the true?
None,
It would seem, can carry the sweet
Of fertile seeds along the water’s edge
It is but passing as its plumpness
Withers and drops
Apart, epistle, a dogma.
This vampiric little heart takes no form
In Narcissus’ pool it does not
Glisten in the waters calm
Despite the furious mouth
And, gone, lost of all that made it whole.
I go back to the source of the
Grey valley flume
Unknown to impetus,
Cannot find its way in the endless roads
And paths in the sun-baked skin,
The wind may blow salt in my eyes though
The music of its basin fills my ears:
Waves breaking and pressing
On soft earthen lines, scrap-book memories
Faded at the edges like Polaroids
Unfold from the waves of purity
In the sand of an empty shore.
I peer idly into the glimmering stream
No red heart beating,
But a grey heart; one simply searching, pining
For a grey love to begin
And the world that I know
They belong in.
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 8:27 AM UTC
, and affix me with your radiance
to count all six of my fingers
(including the plumpness of my toes as they grow
on wide-eyed weeping trees) in the land of lakes
where the mountains are smooth like butter.
you see,
baby,
my lifeline connects to the cracks of my eyes
now noticeably deeper
and when i hold you my hands are just points of view.
and when we cant think of anything to say
you
Know
that
the raindrops of heavy expanses
are strained in our exchanges.
so sing to me with your fragmented lips
before the individual peels split into birds
flying away,
with
Oct 5, 2011
Oct 5, 2011 at 2:41 PM UTC
as i walk past
the almost god of wrinkly
things and his new apprentice,
lying wrapped about each
other, in food filled plumpness, lying sate,
in the morning sun....
i can not but help ponder,
a house cat,
loved through and through, is probably,
one of the highest levels
of reincarnation......
Dec 2, 2014
Dec 2, 2014 at 4:05 PM UTC
The apple sits
Begging to pulsate.
But the damage of the worm
Strengthens.
It continuously burrows
Burrows
Until nothing but the core of the apple is left.
The round plumpness of the apple
Has been reduced to
Nothing.
It wobbles and shivers.
The core falls over
Helpless.
Apr 18, 2012
Apr 18, 2012 at 8:22 PM UTC
And one day, they'll all be gone.
Like constellations that slowly stray,
and fade into the ever stretching sky.
Nothing lasts forever,
even the bones,that keep you
from falling apart, will someday
just be matter, turning to dust.
One day, it'll all be different,
your old stomping grounds will be wearing thin,
the plumpness of you cheeks will deteriorate,
and your eyes will sink, hollow with age.
Your old high school friends, gone with the wind.
Their names on the tip of your tongue, yet still,
light years away.
The tides will continue on,
just like they did, that night, all those years ago,
when you had a bit too much alcohol,
and the boy you just met kissed you,
and then danced with you,
the only music being a starry night,
and the hum of the ocean.
You swore you'd never forget those eyes.
Swore the taste of his lips would,
never leave your tongue.
But now, the details have faded into a near nothing,
and you'll have a new life.
A new shell to break out of.
Feb 18, 2014
Feb 18, 2014 at 10:18 AM UTC
your lips reveal what
world they rail against--
moistened by applications
of evenfall desires.
i smear their choicest words
across your mouth.
hanging my lips a tingle
from yours in mock betrayal.
then sink their plumpness--
like a ripe fruit fallen
on sodden ground.
Feb 27, 2019
Feb 27, 2019 at 1:42 PM UTC
wavy face , wavy hair
raw naked vulnerable
reborn into the world, just coming out of a trip
i fell in love
with dilated pupils and an insatiable desire and unbounded awe
her hands
the childish , plumpness once there
gone , replaced with a maturity and a womanly affect
with nails reflected current inner stability
they fell in love
caressing and holding, her thumbs pressed up to open lips
moon like phases of excitement and apathy ,
alternating between pure experience and
happiness and
pain and
adventure
to recuperation and **** and self reflection and away with
the emotions she cant bear by herself anymore
she falls sometimes
holding on to love ,
giving love ,
waiting for love
Sep 8, 2017
Sep 8, 2017 at 2:38 PM UTC
every line,
each groove and edge,
fall and sweep to create you,
that arch of your back,
and apple in your throat,
curves that fall at the base of your back,
chiseled edges of thighs,
delicate ankles,
and veins that throb,
carefully created cheeks,
and the bumps of collar bones,
plumpness of lips,
and nobble on knees,
making you perfect for me.
Aug 28, 2013
Aug 28, 2013 at 5:01 PM UTC
Version 2
My moonlight eyes
Might have been part of heavenly things.
My fingers
Are angelic in form.
My legs
Slender,attractive and obviously the ones that attracted him more to me.
I am beautiful.
I am not too tall,
But my plumpness kind of fits my height
Perfectly.
Yet,
I am sure he was concerned more
By the backside than the wonderful bump
My chest makes against his.
Why me?
But why not?
I am the beauty of his eyes,
The satisfaction of all his lustful desires.
So isn't one less beautiful than me more fortunate?
For no big bellied man in his richness
Can dare approach a woman he is less satisfied with.
I see it all in his eyes.
My silky skin,
My adorable smile,
And the totally kissable lips are all he ever thinks of.
But if I am too beautiful to attract a man my own father's father's age,
Then beauty is a curse.
Jun 2, 2015
Jun 2, 2015 at 8:37 AM UTC
Lying back to back on a plate
an orange
and a banana
each dream
its own dream
Cézanne comes over
gives the banana
a half turn
Its graceful inner curve now
embraces the orange’s plumpness
Instantly the air softens
the color fluid
and rich
Oct 22, 2019
Oct 22, 2019 at 3:32 PM UTC
i feels it the
keenly reeling
offall to
LEAP
completely mortalness
(and kiss by dashing
w
i
n
gs
the juice'd plumpness
day's killing
)
fleet,
'
;
.
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 3:36 PM UTC
Tanya had not seen
the thing from that
angle, she’d only seen
it from her own narrow
gauge of looking, and
of course there was
the blindness, caused
by hate, and he had
after all gone off with
that skinny **** and
after all the effort she’d
taken to loose weight,
and oh yes, he had gone
and taken her favourite
dress the red one she’d
out grown, and the one
she’d once much favoured,
although she’d only worn
it the once, and now that
thin bean of a girl had it
on, oh how could he, she
spat out, while lounging
in the bath, the water
almost to the rim, and she
there looking at her pink
plumpness, and how her
**** could almost swim, oh
come back, do not leave me
here, she moaned although
there was none to hear her,
except the guy in the flat next
door, but he was kind of queer,
oh where is love when you need
it? and where is some god to protect?
Oh, she said, all my plans are wrecked.
May 31, 2012
May 31, 2012 at 2:44 AM UTC
Have you ever stared at someone for a long moment that you actually catch yourself being hypnotized by their absolute impeccable beauty? They posses curvy lips with a soft plumpness texture to them. The way their perfect, oval shaped and squared eyes stare at you with a dark brown pupil gazing right into your abyss soul. Everything about them just makes you warm on the inside only to find out you are perspiring a bit.
You admire this person's physical beauty extensively, that from this clamant moment you know you have to act up and analyze their way of talking, the movement of their lips and eyes, the sway mobility of their body as they take their every step, and finally they position of their head when they are having a conversation with you. An obsession with this person's body starts taking over you and makes you catch any quirky body gesture that they do not realize on their own. Once you finish examining their eyes and lips you move on to their untarnished oval and slender face. Along with their semi-white teeth when they smile.
This individual does not appreciate their own beauty to themselves, but others can see it and be mesmerized by it. Wishing to just bury your lips to theirs in a rather violent manner, wanting to just stare at their eyes in a steady position without them thinking you are odd for doing so, and praying for them to let you caress their soft and light skin with your sinful and promiscuous hands. After all of that, you find yourself un-hypnotized only to find out that you can never ever do these things to this beautiful creature. Not because they are not compatible with you. Not because their personality isn't wondrous. But because they are distant. Knowing you have to see and interact with this person four days out of the week, you find yourself staring at this person from a long distance when they are not looking. And peek a crocket smile as you look down at the floor when they turn around.
Too distant from you and too oblivious to notice that you've turn all of their flaws into an absolute immaculate piece of art that should be hanged on a hallow pure wall while it is worshipped by many.
For this reason I shall wake up from my false dream and walk out of the door with all of my feelings, desires, and hopes thrown into a bin called the American dream.
Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 5:03 PM UTC