"quickie" poems
The new # 69 hoochi coochi smoochi
rubberized *** robot ****** sucker model 2.0
now available
****** off
feelin lonely
tired of spats
credit cards charged up from dates that don't put out
don't like the same restaurants
not ***** to your taste
cant stand the in-laws
you wana live costal, they like Kansas
or
tired of internet dating
and no time for a quickie
when the one you love tells you they aren't in the mood
well bunky
its a brave new world
take a spin in our new model
robot 69, 2.0
they talk
they walk
warm all ova inside and out
scented oiled perfumed *** optional
and flavored
to include
chocolate crunch, vanilla, strawberry
and
phooey
replete with an array of assorted interchangeable
***** pussy's and butts
extra sturdy for ware and tear
and those little irresistible spankies and whoopins
you just cant live without
plus any colors, or rainbow rubber chasse
gay straight or mix it up how eva
trans trans gender
buy out right
or rent ala cart
deluxe or standard
voice activated
advanced multi lingual
baby talk and hits the high notes
talks back software program
and
NO always means YES
plus
screams
cu cu cu cu cu cummmmming
cooes I love you
**** me now *****
shred me you ****** ******
and many others
in over 50 languages
Other optional features include
age play
ethnic fetish
banjee
blow jobs
tipping the velvet
**** to mouth
salad tossing
tea bagging
spit roast
bare back
chicken head
death grip
*******
mammary ***********
***** call
Netflix and chill
donkey punch
golden shower
brown bath
cream pie
*******
motor boating
and the shocker
two in the pink and one in the stink
Aug 23, 2018
Aug 23, 2018 at 8:14 AM UTC
I want to slide my fingers
out of my pockets
into your lap
in between your legs
and push your buttons
until your eyes roll back
into your head
and pass out and go to bed
May 2, 2018
May 2, 2018 at 10:53 AM UTC
We keep coming together, you killing me, it's a dead heat. *** so good, we can hardly speak. Climbing on top, she's reaching her peak. Skirt no ******* she hide, I seek. Ready or not, here she **** and I practice what I preach. Locked myself inside her, finders keep. If the meek inherits her world, I guess that makes me weak.
Aug 29, 2018
Aug 29, 2018 at 5:48 PM UTC
I want to
saturate my tongue
in your taste
while you
wrap your legs
around my waist
and we both race
to keep pace
with each other
moving together
back and forth
making you wet
like a rain
in stormy weather
our bodies
ingrained like we were
made for each other
Mar 3, 2017
Mar 3, 2017 at 11:21 PM UTC
Different than anything ever experienced, it’s ecstasy.
Her body reacts to his, vibes on the same frequency.
Gyrating their bodies-- her breath hot and breathing heavily.
Her eyes fixed on his, lips, each kiss placed perfectly.
penetrating deeply, pleasure loves company.
Sep 2, 2014
Sep 2, 2014 at 12:46 PM UTC
They're feverish with desire
Eclipsed in love
Raging like a black smoke fire
****** scents rising above
The pheromones they release
Must be smelled miles away
They've missed this, the tease
And liquid glances, it's been days
Since, either have touched the other
But they still feel that ****** tension
On every inch of their skin
When they're finally away from prying eyes
Their lips mesh, his hands move to her thighs
And hers slide up through his hair
Gripping on tight
They could be spotted, but neither cares
He pushes her hard against the wall
Bringing her legs around his hips
She thanks heaven she wore a skirt
And quiets a moan by devouring his lips
He quickly, fervently unzips his jeans
Releasing himself and promptly
Entering her sweet, wet heat
He groans as he swallows her scream
Then pounds in hard, fast, ferociously
She rocks her hips with a delicious little motion
Squeezing her core tight, biting his lips
Coming almost instantly when he growls with delight
He thrusts harder, incessantly feeling her getting tight
Moving her ankles to rest on his shoulders
He delves his shaft as deep inside as he can reach
She scratches scars along his back
And they kiss so deep like it's the final feast
She throbs in her core as another wave hits at full force
Starts going weak as she comes once more
Feeling her liquid pour, brings him to the edge
He grips her ankles stretching the limits of her flexibility
Then roars into her sweet mouth as he comes, vigorously
He lets her legs go, but holds her upright
They both sigh knowing it's the beginning of the night,
And that was just a quickie
Dec 14, 2014
Dec 14, 2014 at 3:18 PM UTC
Writing you these words, cause I have been thinking about you all day. Love to watch her go; I rather to watch you hours on end, every second of every day. You resolution, is purely evolution - I get so carried away. But unlike those Play stations, you don't take things the wrong way. Your hardware driving me crazy, been on my mind all day. Putting you in all the right positions, my edition of feng shui. Take a mental picture and keep it stored away so when I finally get to see you, take full control, and do things the right way. If it was up to me, you wouldn't know the difference between night and day. Close the blinds, lock the door, unplug the phone, and lets play; you do, everything, I say. Pushing your buttons, cause I love it when you act this way. you are the only thing in this world that does exactly what I say. there for me when I need sum action; after a stressful day. You relieve me so quickly; even if its just a quickie. That's why I will always need you, my Xbox 360.
May 17, 2014
May 17, 2014 at 7:39 AM UTC
Roar Bean Got
Chosen
Sipping on taste
never forgotten
So miraculous power
rising.
Been told so
Boldly,
her uniqueness
Only it's mode of
attachment
Sips up on you like a
Goddess
in fragments
Her spell of the blend,
Coffee lips he was sold
kissed her hand
Mystical bow
Thought's love-arrowed
Through "Hearts" Wowed
All her poem's
Quick thinking
The (Quickie) hour?
Coffee lips ******* the
tower money showered
Home-body
Coffee__steamy
he raided my book
Crystal ball showed me,
"Everyone"
Oh! my he dated
(Holy-Coffee)
My Ego got inflated
Digging gold dreamily
Flower Lily mated and
seeded
Please "Lips" dream on
Opening up the invitation
Coffee? Me or You
Masquerade flower's brocade
Spellbound red poppy I fooled you
Coffee says cheesecake
Mystical play awake
Chosen One Bean
Clean Godly-scent
Cat nine rumor years.
coffee live's pretend
Million in one tear's
gallivant super stirred
Small World Cafe
Big University Princeton NJ.
Mister Mystical laptop taking
a sip New Jersey
The kaleidoscope Blueberry
Go Girl Godiva-raspberry
Coffee lip me
Not over my lip's
He takes another sip
Carmello, He's the
good fellow
Italian mob cappuccino
Leave the Cannoli
Take the gun movie set
"Tarantino"
Here's his handle I'm his
Secret Gun-it lips
I told you
my secret Streaming
play scout
The smell of his aura cup
In his eye's only James
No games just coffee?
Bonds
What about me?
Her chosen bean
Luna blue blueberry
His sugar flight
"Shimmering Chandeliers"
Hello musketeer's fight
Mystical Coffee well suited
BMW car's
Wedding Bellringer
We are destined to star is born
Judy my Mom the singer.
Dec 2, 2016
Dec 2, 2016 at 9:44 AM UTC
I want to slide my fingers
out of my pockets
into your lap
in between your legs
and push your buttons
until your eyes roll back
into your head
and pass out and go to bed
Jul 21, 2017
Jul 21, 2017 at 8:51 PM UTC
Why do I love?
Is it because I want to feel loved in recoil or is it the thought of love in absentia soldiering me to asset love.
Tell me what love is?
Love is the reason I want to get out of bed early in morning to watch the sunrise in her presence,
Love makes my feet numb and my heart seek solitude whenever she stands next to me or sit beside me in the bus on the journey to free my heart.
Love takes authority of your heart’s emotions desire that feel like a burden, not to her they aren’t,
Love gives you perception, to see her for who she is, not what she can’t be but what she’s worth.
Love is a ****** who invariably needs rehab to stay on track and feel alive where there’s oblivion in array.
Ask me what love isn’t?
Love isn’t waiting for you across the street,
Love wants you to play a game of chase, chase me if you fancy me love said.
Love isn’t a pack of sheath you keep in your ripped side pocket jean for a quickie, Love isn’t a puppy nor a cub you can teach to play a game of fetch nor play dead,
Love isn’t your wrecked black sedan you can panel beat back to its mint right condition,
Love isn’t your typical Cinderella fairytale were the glass slipper is fated to fit foolproof,
Why do I love you asked!
I love to know love, what it’s like to put her in rehab ahead of enemy lines and what it’s like to see the perception of her own personification.
Jan 5, 2019
Jan 5, 2019 at 7:39 AM UTC
Overcome with lust
Kissing pulling fast thrusting
Back to the workplace
Jan 24, 2014
Jan 24, 2014 at 6:07 PM UTC
It's lovely outside, I think I’ll go knickerless today.
You don’t want to do that, you might get knocked down by a bus.
Why would that make any difference.
You always have to wear clean underwear when getting knocked down by a bus.
Do you make these things up.
Did your mum never tell you, you always have to wear clean underwear when leaving the house, just incase you get knocked down by a steamroller or such.
My mum said a lot of things, luckily for me I grew up, unlike some people I may add.
Hardly my fault my mum has to come round and cook for me.
Cook, she cuts your sausages, you’re a child.
Sure she’d cut your carrots if you asked her.
Think I’ll wear pants now, you’re driving me nuts.
You’re not wearing white, are you.
Why, does mummy not allow white.
I’m more thinking of the guys in the office.
What, what's it got to do with them.
It’s got a lot, you don’t want the guys glimpsing boring white, put black on.
The guys in my office are too busy to be perving at my underwear.
Guys are never too busy, it's our job in life to check the girls out.
My last boyfriend was never like this.
That’s because your last boyfriend usually wore your knickers.
He just liked the feel of women's underwear.
How is his hormone treatment coming along, is he wearing your bra yet.
Get knotted mummy’s boy.
Talking about mummy’s, I’m taking yours running tonight. Hope she’s wearing the skimpy shorts.
That’s another thing, you told my mum she shouldn’t wear pants under her shorts, why would that be.
Might be something to do with the leg massage I give her after our run.
You are sick.
Your mum’s a cougar. Actually, just thinking about her is getting me hot, fancy a quickie.
Get stuffed, just get me to work without mentioning my mum, underwear, or any other perversions in your sick brain.
Do my best, white pants.
I’ll get you in the car, need to get something.
Nice legs lover, did I glimpse black ******* there.
Well, you said it, we need to keep the guys happy, any luck one of them will ask me out.
Well if they do, tell them you’re not available this weekend.
And why would that be.
Cos I’m taking you to Paris.
Maybe I don’t want to go to Paris.
Oh you will, five star hotel, tickets to see that weird female singer you love.
Okay, I’ll need a new outfit, maybe a few outfits. Will I need **** underwear.
Strangely enough no. Me and your mum bought you some.
Jun 1, 2016
Jun 1, 2016 at 3:34 PM UTC
A bright lad called Alistair Cook
Did enjoy the occasional book,
He went out to bat,
NO - don't play at that,
They did him; line, sinker and hook.
On him I'd bet my whole house,
More like a lion than a mouse,
He bats with aplomb,
Both dainty and strong,
It can only be Andrew Strauss.
From the pavilion did Jonathan Trott,
Nervous and anxious he is not,
He'll be there for a while,
All England will smile,
And South Africa know he is hot.
Next in is the feisty KP,
His batting, the top of the tree,
Sixes so great,
They should be worth eight,
Now just stay IN for a hundred or three!
A chap from ooop north who is good,
Goes by the name of Paul Collingwood,
Gritty and tough,
We just can't get enough,
Fight as hard as him, we all should.
No more will the fear he smell,
He's been down to the gym as well,
His batting is slick,
Number six does the trick,
The crowd cheers for Ian Bell.
Swinging his bat, it's Matt Prior,
Born with iron grit, steel and fire,
If he holds each catch,
We'll win the match,
And his ranking will go much higher.
Our spinner is next, Mr Swann,
His bowling is coming on strong,
His batting is great,
Which the opposition hate,
Not to pick him much sooner was wrong.
Our tall quickie is young Stuart Broad,
His bat is a rapier like sword,
He can oft' bowl too short,
Yet the batters get caught,
And Of wicket-taking we never are bored.
James Anderson is our king of swing,
Late movement his favourite thing,
Please bowl nice and full,
Offer nothing to pull,
And just hear those stumps go 'ping'.
Graeme Onions comes in at long last,
Cannot bat but, he can bowl fast,
He makes them play,
While others may stray,
Durham long-hops a thing of the past.
Feb 9, 2010
Feb 9, 2010 at 10:59 PM UTC
*I don't just want a taste of your lips
I don't only want a one time date
I don't just want a quickie
I don't just want a dance
A single evening stroll
One night stand
I want someone to always hold my hand
A beauty that makes me lose control
I want it for my lifetime, the dance
I know It's kinda hard and tricky
A promise of forever,a debt
I want someone for keeps*
Jun 5, 2015
Jun 5, 2015 at 3:42 AM UTC
I am not your ***** call
I am not your Saturday night
I wont get on my knees just to please
a man
I am not your *** toy
I am not your pornograpghic fantasy
I wont bend over just to get ******* over by
a man
Don't ask me for ***
Don't ask me for pleasure
And **** sure don't as me for a quickie
Got it
man
Feb 3, 2013
Feb 3, 2013 at 3:38 PM UTC
Marry me in a far-off field dotted with small flowers, under the twinkling stars of night's magical darkness
Wear that cute white dress with the hem cut up short, the one where I can't resist you
Be a feast for heart in your angelic beauty, the shy smile and the happiness in your eyes
Darling, Darling! Please, please be mine?
There will be small pretty cakes for the guests, our honored neighbors
Just you, just me, and a few other people who are barefoot and laughing.
And Oh I, my dear, will have eyes only for you and only your forever now
I don't like cake, but I'll crave your lips, the sweetness there
So loving, so tender. My very best friend, my super duper ***** naughty lover.
Let's have a quickie in the bushes! Slip away to have a **** that will never be enough
No, I cannot wait and will not wait. In front of guests and kind friends
I'll make love to you on that very spot.
Mary me, you say.
Yes, I answer
I'm only kidding, you laugh
But you are my happy ever after.
Jan 19, 2014
Jan 19, 2014 at 10:00 AM UTC
the deaf
seeking the "quickie"
the heartless
------------
who the prostitutes, who the wives?
where are lovers to go
now that honor is gone?
-----------
where will we be
in 30 years?
-------------
same ole same ole
-----------
the high mountain holds the vision
but
where are the hermit saints to go
now that they have strip mined
the high mountain?
----------
"who cares?"
is said
-----------
just a "quickie" babe
is all we want
though it is not
exactly
what we need
Jan 21, 2011
Jan 21, 2011 at 12:06 PM UTC
Sophia was out of luck
if she thought Benedict
was going to fall for that
that mid morning ****
and on
old Mr Atkinson's bed
(how he liked
his Wagner)
creeping up
on him like that
grabbing him
around the waist
and pushing him
to the bed
and saying
O come on
just a quickie for me
(Polish accent
not shown here)
no no
he said
not here and now
I’ve jobs to do
baths to attend to
old men
to get ready
and she lay over him
spread out on him
her bulging *******
kind of pinning him down
but it is my birthday
she said
it is good to do
the unexpected
now and then
her breath smelt
of peppermint
her body
eased on him deeper
he kept his hands
away from her
at his sides
best he could
all temptations
held in check
you can do
what you like
she said
good then
let me go
and I’ll go run
some baths
he said
anyway
it's near morning
coffee break
I need my fill
of coffee
you could take me here
she said
from the front or rear
no no
he said
trying to get off
the bed
his hands attempting
to push her off
touching her body
soft and supple
her breast touched
accidentally
what if I scream out
and say you tried
to have me?
she said
go ahead
he said
they know me
they know
you're always after me
I’ll say you tried
to have me here
on Mr Atkinson's bed
they believe me
she said
I'm the female
go ahead then
scream off your head
he said
but she moved off of him
and arranged
her clothes tidily
pushed her hair
into shape
and said
I’ll have you next time
Benny boy
next time
we have it quick
and on some other bed
and he rearranged
his shirt and tie
and watched
as she walked off
down the passageway
her fine behind
giving it
that **** sway.
Jan 7, 2014
Jan 7, 2014 at 1:38 AM UTC
Yiska rests on her bed,
smoking a cigarette.
The sky is dull,
the room darkened.
She inhales,
watches the smoke,
she's just exhaled,
rise ceiling wards.
Her husband is out,
fishing, *******
who knows, or cares.
She exhales again,
at times like this
she reflects
on her young days,
her schoolgirl years.
Naaman was a love
back then.
School crush thing
some thought.
But no,
more than that.
She inhales so deeply
that it seems
her whole body
is filled
with nicotine and smoke.
Naaman kissed good.
That time on the field.
Lips and tongue.
She exhales and smiles.
He'd be in his 30s now,
a year older than she.
She can still,
if she shuts her eyes at night,
see him as he was.
Even when her husband
is giving her a quickie,
she thinks on Naaman,
imagines it's him on top,
not her husband's sad efforts.
She inhales
and closes her eyes.
He is there
in her mind still.
Even on the day
she married,
she hoped Naaman
would show
and whisk her away
on the back
of a motorcycle,
her white dress
flapping in the wind,
she giving her groom
to be, an up you sign
of middle finger.
But he didn't show.
She knew he wouldn't;
she'd not seen
since he left school,
the year before she.
Moved away some place.
She exhales
and smiles out smoke.
When she goes shopping
in other towns,
she wonders
if she'll meet Naaman there,
bump into him
on an aisle,
next to cereals or cheeses.
She recalls that time
in the school between lessons,
seeing him,
and wanting him
to drag her into some room
and kiss her
and do things.
But he just smiled
and walked on
and into a classroom,
leaving her hot
and gagging for it
(a term some girls
used back then).
What if he had?
Some empty room
in the school?
That day would have been
burned into her memory
if he had.
As it was,
she walked on,
to her boring art class,
bubbling
with upset hormones.
She sighs,
opens her eyes,
and moans.
Jan 3, 2014
Jan 3, 2014 at 2:08 AM UTC
You got no love for me
Your just a sick and twisted
Vicious circle
Smothering
Thats not love
You bring
Its hypnotic
Pull at my heartstrings
Brainwashing delusionaly
Leave me screaming at your
Name
How bad you hurt me
Thats not love you bring.
Oct 3, 2012
Oct 3, 2012 at 11:50 PM UTC
Remember Pops?
I mentioned him in #1.
He is black, 82 going on 29.
A heart of gold and hide thicker than an old oak.
Well, the old **** just left me here in his rental trailer
installing a new floor in a bathroom. He had to go get a quickie,
I aspire to be so spry when I am 29.
Anyhow, when we were riding to Lowe's in Enterprise, to get the vinyl,
for his ********* Sirius(tm? trademark whatevr) was playing
Muddy Waters, and Pops
drove past all the way to Opp cause we were engrossed in his story about a black cat bone. Geechee people and Tennessee lore.
We turned around in Opp and headed back to Enterprise, thinking about that black cat being boiled alive and one bone floating upstream.
Mar 5, 2015
Mar 5, 2015 at 2:31 AM UTC
Nima splashed water from one
of the fountains in Trafalgar Square
over Baruch. Laughing she did
it again, but he side-stepped, like
one out of rain, hands wide as if
to bless. He'd met her a few moments
before; by Nelson's Column, she’d
written from her hospital bed, drug
taking recovering (so said), cold
turkey or whatever she'd scribed.
Finishing the ablutions, she walked
on, he followed, stepping beside
her, catching her in profile, taking
in her cropped hair, brown, washed
and washed. She talked of the nursing
staff, who talked of her behind her
back, some at least, she added, chat
of the *** cupboard we used, that
time you came, she said, laughing,
walking out of the Square, along by
the gallery, her voice too loud, he
thought, but sounded out by the
traffic passing. She was clothed in
a blue dress, too short, he thought,
seeing her thighs, sans stockings or
tights, sandaled feet. They went into
Leicester Square, she talking of one
of the quacks she'd seen, head case,
foreign, fancies himself, she added.
Baruch, spied the billboards, new
films, merchandise, drinks, cigarettes,
lowering his eyes, watching her sway
her hips and **** hands swinging,
gesturing. She stopped by a bench
and sat down, he did likewise, ears
catching her words, holding them in
his mind, something about them being
jealous of my sexuality she added,
giving Baruch the eye, maybe thinking
me a ***** a druggie slapper, she
said laughing, her hand rubbing against
the top of his, he sensing skin on skin,
remembering, the quickie in the side
room, cupboard size, just off the ward.
He talked of his boring job, the mind
numbing labours, the Coltrane jazz LP,
played on and on, he said, eyes closed.
She lay her head on his shoulder, he felt,
smelt the combination of expensive scent
and hospital smell (soaps or disinfectants),
felt her fingers rubbing his. She took out
a cigarette, offered him one, he took and
she lit up with red plastic lighter. Inhaled,
exhaled, inhaled, silence, her hand wrestled
with his, watching smoke rise, upwards,
twirling, in the hot summer spread skies.
Aug 1, 2013
Aug 1, 2013 at 2:04 AM UTC
Whiskey kisses and drunken nights.
I was nothing more than a sad romantic novel on the back of your shelf.
Red lipstick smeared across my mouth.
I was nothing but your quickie on the side of the road.
You said "don't worry this will be over quickly"
I said " I hope you get hit by a ******* car."
You laughed with bitterness and said with one quick slap to my face "you're nothing more than whiskey kisses on the side of the road"
You left me stranded on the dirt road in a mini skirt and red lipstick on my face and a new black eye.
And I said, quietly to myself on this old abandoned road in the middle of nowhere, "I hope I get hit by a ******* car"
Oct 14, 2013
Oct 14, 2013 at 2:08 AM UTC
7/30
11:20 am
no luddite me.
no longing for the good old days.
from one oft abused little phone,
I, while bathing royally
in my cowardly four
legged lioness tub
got my music,
my reading list,
sports pages,
and if so inclined,
shoot off a quickie,
a poem for your
grateful nation
appreciation.
all of which
causes me to
issue a heartfelt
happy cry apology
dame as the
of the prehistoric
techie avanti,
Flinstoni
yabadabadoo!
which does not deserve
the opprobrium returned of
"Shut Up, Please"
coming from the the galley
kitchen where the women are
doing their whatever
gossipy kitchen thing.
not to be accused of non-responsiveness,
I, reply as the techno Fourth Tenor,
"can't hear you, why don't you text me!"
happily issuing another,
but in a more
thoughtful basso,
yabadabadoo!
quietly whispering
a self satisfying
follow up
vincerò!
ogdiddy nash
Aug 6, 2017
Aug 6, 2017 at 3:18 PM UTC
When you wrote a short poem, you were in the mood for a quickie.
Meant you had no patience for me and didn't want my attention.
You got a short attention span, lack of patience and you hurl insults.
Wish you really loved me like I loved you, what you love is money.
Felt dead for years and missed the sweet you that went slow making love.
You lost interest when I lost my job for a few months, you hurled loser.
You did not want to be tied to a frigging loser, died inside dozens of times.
My heart ache was his gain, you met your lover boy in the stables.
Tried like hell to keep you happy, you did not want that from me.
You only wanted it from him, he had a good job but not like me.
I can't get back what I felt for you once you hurled insults at me.
You got dollar signs for eyes and money centered.
Jan 19, 2014
Jan 19, 2014 at 4:26 PM UTC