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Cné Oct 2015
Ah yes, the magic of human touch,
Trusting to warm my soul's skin
Tis nature of loves connection, as such.

My body accepts, oh if you only knew
Like an honored guest, I grin
Anticipating the pleasures, one of the few.

Skin to skin, our bodies converse.
Uninhabited, my mind wander
Deep inside, my craving thirsts.

Artful hands sculpt with purpose
Lulling layers open, you're quite the artist
Soothing caress melt my body formless

I'm yours, silently, I surrender.
As my flesh cries out for more
Arching waves of splendor

Rewarded my senses sated.
With newfound clarity reborn
Mind, body and spirit replenished.

I thank you for your gift of touch.
Lovingly, I would return the favor,
as such.
Nothing is spoken, just being open to touch is the reward.
Cné Sep 2017
Let me mold my body along your curves; trickle yourself into my entire being

Vulnerable, ****, my heart exposed, palpably we connect across the starry sky; you ... within me

I want your intimacy to linger along the edges of my lips hours after you've gone

I ache to be consumed by your eyes, intense with emotions, long after the dawn

Take me to your intimate chambers where hearts race; the rhythm of our silhouettes melded on satin sheets

Leisurely feel your way; a slow descend along the avenue of my rhythmic swell; forgive me of my quivering wanton needs

Allow me to graze at the gates of your femininity, drinking the honey from your pink walls; to feel your crowning point between my lips

How can I resist those wandering lips that stirs the curtains of my garden alcove; perfectly painted in honey dew, I throb for the touch of your kiss

Drape your thighs upon my shoulders; let the waves of satisfaction cascade up your spine

I beg to be released, dear God, of this intoxicating spell; I submit myself, heart laid bare; oceans of emotions no longer can I hide.

Find your eyes locking with mine; my torso parallels yours, my body pressed to you; equal in ferocity and tenderness

Mesmerize by your burning eyes in our melting flesh, so strong your hold; yet so tender your caress

Utter our names in fiery moans both whispered and screamed in heated breaths on our solitary night

Vile obscenities float out on heated breath, as cool air kiss our molded skin on the evening our time takes flight

Take me to your heart & cast away the flesh; allow our souls to weave in the throes of passion as our bodies mix into one; slow-motion ecstasy

A longing deep inside, the locked chambers of my soul to exotic places beyond our imaginationsyou sneak into my heart to fulfill my every fantasy 

Feed me the lullabies you paint on your canvas; orgiastic symphony we conduct in cascading tides; trembles throughout our bodies when our fluids mix

Let me paint upon your heart a ballet of our duet; the crescendo palette of my tide drown you in the spirit of our lyrics

Your ripe fruit quivers tenderly while our union completes; take my hands and let me be yours

Hold my sated body that tremors from the wake; a union of our souls ensnare a bond secure
~
A Collaboration with Jack Jenkins.
https://hellopoetry.com/jack-jenkins/
Cné Jun 2018

paint me
with the wet tickle
of your tongue
lingering with affection
savoring my fervent flavor
in bold strokes
of your obsession

color my essence
in heated hues
sending shivers
down my spine
in anticipation
of your warm breath
against my flesh
with every blissful caress
to ensue painted petals
of animation

with your supple lips
gently blur the lines
of my curved hips
softly stroking
the subtle shadows
of warm depth,
blushing
quivering thighs
as I gasp
of breath

plunge in
a primer coated palette
dipping your stiff paintbrush
deep within
the folds of my blanket
manipulating
a trembling image
of your voracious lust.

craze me
again and again
in breathless
****** glow,
your sensual brushstrokes
gently murmuring
layer on layer
in alla prima flow

delve deep
into my eyes
paint splattering
the passion
of my soul
drizzling silken strands
of love
in their entirety,
polishing me whole

and then
in blissful backwash
admire
the tangled limbs
interposed
of your
completed masterpiece
in smiling
sated repose

Cné Oct 2017
What would I give for a nook and a book
to cuddle and snuggle and longingly look
the pages unfolding as I listened to
the babbling song of a fast flowing brook.

Oh, if it had pictures, a faraway place,
mysterious villains, a dark alley chase
I’d pick up the phone I’d call in sick
disappear in the mist, leaving no trace.

What would I do to be captured by words
impressed into service by pirates with swords,
adrift without wind, current silently slow
half crazed crew pacing the sun-baked dried boards.

Perhaps of an evening a stroll on the beach
salt, surf, and moonlight on ebony skin
passion full sated on cooling soft sand
last dream of the shanghaied seagoing men.

What would I give for a storybook nook
I’d offer it all the time that it took
to take me away to wherever it would
leave me enraptured by a murmuring brook.
Nat Lipstadt Oct 2013
October 2013

for Maria and Logan...

you need two hands, one foot.
count my years.
each finger, worth a decade.
each toe, well, a century...

birthdays.

point of inflection,
point of opportunity,
presents itself,
to rewrite history.

a second coat of paint,
gift-wrapped in weak excuses.
how I lied, how I ain't,
grimm-fated fairy tales
somebody created.

invisible suits of gold-cloth
worn to my party of
past rewrit and
future foretold.

one single thought,
memory,
seizes my heart,
as I fall to my knees.
cracks my temperate ease,
renders open the
woof and weave
of recycled deceptions,
causing all to be revealed
and ask,

what if the poetry ceases?

you know prostrate?
you taste grief?

have you not but
one pain,
one act,
one deed,
one memorization,
act of cowardice,
act of desertion,
mistake maden, taken,
for which
forgiveness
can never
be given,
be taken,
attained?

do, does, did.

let me then
win the birthday lottery,
let floods of relief from
daily chores, not drown me,
chauffeurs to drive,
masseurs to massage,
cooks to cook,
les delicious treats,
keep theologians, logicians
on retainer, if need
explanations.

none know, can provide,
still and yet, a
priestly sacred chord,
grants relief,
absolution,
song of hallelujah
the ache of
perpetuity worry,
that ancient pain,
grows fresher daily,
the loss of one,
of my body,
my primal knot
unreasonable,
everything should be
permitted to be untied,
on my birthday, no?

this day, these days
breathe through words,
molecules of vowels,
stem cells of consonants,
the fabric, the tissues of life,
veins are a dictionary
of corpuscles,
red blood cells are
nouns of nutrients.

this day, these days,
the infection of my soul
is tempered, kept at bay,
tamped down from the
full flowering
of white blood cells
of rhyme, verse.

what if the poetry ceases?

Though the bones creak,
the body they carry. resurrect
for morning, afternoon
and evening prayers.

thrice daily poetry I recite,
roses red, violets blue,
my marrow transfused.

though my prayers refused,
the poetry act immolates
the fringes of my disease,
for which the common cure
is not currently invented....

what if the poetry ceases?

but be assured, told
scientists hard at work,
on the
forgive n' forget drug.

meantime,
take a bubble bath in
rosemary and mint
trap some words,
tap some words into
your cell phone bone,
the poetry heat that
provides aspirin relief.

through this poem,
on one day annual,
I am relieved, relived
the muse is feted, sated,

gone for few moments
concerns, worries of
exposure today,
agnostic's foxhole of hell
is dis-remembered,
the gloss returns,
the faux dispatched,

ain't birthdays grand?

what if the poetry ceases?

what rhymes with
Sorrow?
mmmmm,
could it be
Morrow?

bath drains, rosemary and mint
odors dismissed, the  Argentine disparu,
the Spanish Medievalists,
the Neo-Raphaelites,
all gone,
didn't they have birthdays too?

didn't know
the Renaissance come
and go,
and nobody
tole ya?

please recall t'is the day
after my sweet city recorded my
naissance in the
Hospital of the Flowers
on Fifth Avenue.

the 'crats put the datum
in the bureau with the
night creams and
the statistics
as follows:

on this day + a few,
six or twenty decades ago +
a few centuries,
a question was born,
and an ache that is
sometimes relieved,
by a poem song.

though do not celebrate,
t'is a day to calibrate,
review, edit, tinker,
rewrite, often a stinker.

always one thought recycles:

what if the poetry ceases?

(how will I breathe?)
Notes: my birthday was a few weeks ago. One of a number poems I've written about birthdays.  This one was modified, but only slightly for Maria and Logan.
Nat Lipstadt Aug 2017
~for Bex~

when a lost muse is no excuse,
when the mundane and the profane
are away on summer holiday,
and the divine is currently on your
'u **** no write list'

nonetheless the itch in the private
spaces is driving you crazy,
write a poem, write a poem,
in the way a grandmother
(or a mother to a grown child)
whiny nags, its a nice day, go outside and play
with a strange man,
whatcha ya gonna do, the walls are all painted,
the good bad boys are out of town, all with the  
other bad good girls, who got there first,
but we will write of
******-rings and other crazy songs you sing

it is not important you the reader understand every verse,
like Patton said, "it only matters that I know,"

which line is a joke,
which is the yoke around your neck,
which the plaintive wail to no avail,
which is the regret that never can be sated,
which is the frustration cratering inside the chest,
which is just, just enough to make a satisfactory smile
upon the lips appear

whose lips?
who cares?
as long as you don't have hear me sing my poetry
but hear me smiling at the power of whimsy
and the return of my no longer muzzy
Muse Amuzeme
<£>
2:13pm
a poem in reserve for you, the Canadian girl
Andrew Oct 2017
We find multiple ways to disconnect
Where business and technology intersect
We kick one another for cash
When we need equilibrium for our economy
Our morals disintegrate to ash
And we trade away our autonomy
But we don't dare reflect
Instead we disconnect
We turn people into symbols and numbers
So we can more comfortably slumber
After causing heartbreaking pain
Through bureaucratic chains
Because face to face
Our heart will race
And we'll examine our submerged morals
That lie in the depths with the coral
But our reflection is too much to bear
So we cowardly choose not to care
The only way we can feel ecstatic
Is to turn people into demographics

The Internet connects us
But also satisfies lust
And imitates human contact
Which has a negative impact
The feeling leaves us sated
And we don't feel the need to change
Our armor becomes plated
And we shoot arrows from long range
Because we don't like the idea of being one another
We get used to the idea of not seeing one another
We disconnect so we don't have to try
We disconnect so we can slowly die

The ****** disconnection continues
As we find more violent avenues
We utilize fatal instruments
To ****** without the sense
Of physically feeling
The life we're stealing
We stabbed one another with swords
Until the bullets soared
But we still needed more
So we disconnected further
And became satellite searchers
Studying people through actions
Defining them by faction
We don't have any interest in their personality or flaws
All we're concerned with is if they're breaking the law
The law we wrote to tip the scales
The law that makes us too big to fail

A husband leaves his wife
Disconnecting from her life
She's left with a child
To raise in the wild
Until a drone drops a bomb
On the struggling single mom
She's not an investor
So we'll just harvest her worthless life
Who'll be her protector
When she's near someone we don't like?
We **** her from our computer
That's the way we casually mute her

We carefully cultivated a disconnect
To treat one another like insects
This mentality will infect
Until we interject
Once we finally reflect
Love will connect
Qweyku Nov 2016
my lips parted
humbled by your resplendence
enchanted by the mystery of your beauty

so i spoke the words of promise
forged on an anvil of insanity
fashioned by a trembling tongue
the fire of fearful fidelity

a passion extinguished by acceptance
reborn from the sated ashes of embrace
reignited with the kindle of emotion
the inferno in the flame of your breath


                  **© Qwey.ku
Jim Musics Jul 2018
By the peaceful waves
On white warm sand
Your eyes are closed
Eating a slice of watermelon

I play a tantric flow on my guitar
As I weave hummed harmonies
Juice drips down your chin
Your soft sated sigh completes our music

You take another piece
The waves swell with euphony
You let more and more and more juice drip
All down your front

When you finish the fruit
You will choose
Shall it be me or the sea
To wash you clean?
or both...
i dread the thought of you
cloaked in someone else's hands
like the gems of harmonia
never sated, never dead
is side-flip of vivid
awesomely augmented
projection blissings

sated seraphims spin
atop agile toes

but so do
voracious villains

those ******* link arms
and do-si-do

spinning you
wrong 'round

fear dealers
doling out
bunk doses

I keep
throwing up palms
like whoawhoawhoa
not now - got **** to do
inside the ******' zone

ego seen-through
crushmoded
mariamme Jan 14
it's shifting, the sky up there

the sunlight carving
carrying spirals
into the crevice of my elbow

i am curled into myself again

hurt radiates
don't center me in this light
put shadow around my shoulders
i'll feel safe if the sun is quiet

am i spiraling, going inward
& down to a dark place

is this an exploration of
the unsteadiness
felt the unlucky lover lost, alone

they seek self, not to be sated.
01:24am
13.01.19
L B Jun 2018
The air suffused
with warm sweat
traced in humors  
blood-stuffed vapor
at body temp
leaking, aching
engorged clouds
drop
lop
lap at back, my shoulders, neck
No wind, no thunder
drives them, harsh
Just sopped
they plop into cotton creases  
Pumped
out
into love's still hungry
art
– eries

Cover deck chairs
Reel in the line

Clothes stick to skin and wanting in
so filled and touching
everywhere
ever-so saturated

I want it sated

I want it raining
Tom Spencer Sep 2018
cloud mountains
rise above the plains

a veil of gray
sweeps the horizon

wind brings
the scent of rain

cars rush past
heading for the city

breathe in deeply
just plowed soil

just mowed field
listen

distant thunder
insect rattle

grass rustling
cars roaring

we live in troubled times
blind unbound

deaf to calm
solicitation

time's relentless
propulsion and hissing

churning pressing
my family is waiting

I turn back to my car
both sated and shaken

reminded to breathe
to see to be filled

even for a moment
to be grateful

that grass and field
soil and wind

and gauzy far-off rain
will defy our clamor

and complaint
and will remain


Tom Spencer © 2018
It was a bright spring day out by the pool
We’d gathered together amidst lawn chairs
To watch

A somewhat portly
Man centered in the water
Swirling like Esther
Incanting
We sipped our ****** wine and smiled cautiously but amused no less.

From the far northern edges came a little
Light haired boy dressed like an angel
Or perhaps the son
Of Poseidon
I think the whole point of this had something to do with Poseidon
Or some other god of the sea
That remained unclear for
Me at least

Needless to say, this was a pool
A little pool with green astroturf surrounding
Piquant with chlorine
Not churning and grey.
Again, to the north stood the child
His son no doubt
Who must have been told simply and repeatedly
Just go to Daddy in the pool
Stand by the side
And he will pick you up
Hold onto your trident
Ok!?

But upon making his move to
Daddy
the child
Misstepped
Stumbled
Fell
And in so doing began to wail
Leaving his otherwise stoic father
Perplexed and annoyed
Astonished
His eyes squinting out the sun
His performance ending before it ever began

Three women rushed to the little wails
The mother scooped her child into her arms
Cradling the tears to her *******
Her attendants ran for vanilla ice cream
The boy now sated
Was resplendent in calm satisfaction

Father left the pool
Make-up running down his wet face
The child ate his ice cream from the bowl
steadfast in his concentration
and seeming innocence
The mother held her little man
The man in charge
We stood up and left for more ****** wine
Perhaps the Pinot.
The eyes with a voracious appetite
The tongue knows no thirst
The heart all sated
The mind, of all, knows the taste
Qweyku May 2018
I can only infer you
speak of my skin
this beautiful brown
this lovely melanin

Yes. Father’s no more,
now long gone, but before
he departed he worked
himself to the bone
straying not a day
from home

As for my colour
you must be blind
the contorted
black darkness
you perceive
has never been mine

Why is this hue such
an affront to you?
policemen, judge, jury
school teachers too?

tis said we’re good
actors; for we play
many a part
but you pay no mind
to such sentiment nor
proverbial heart-to-heart

No sah! Mistake not my
composure for failed
advance, blink once
& I’ll lick you down
given half the chance!


But then you, your ilk
and your briers sown
would just rise again
with sated verbal abuse
& agenda obtuse

Lawd O’ Mercy
I want off this
deadly semantic
merry-go-round

Go home!! N * * * * r!!!
Seething; they scream!

...there goes another
coloured criminal
KILLED
for being created
a shade of Eden's
dust of the ground
Divine-rich-bloodied
melanite brown
#raceisasocialconstruct
The fact of the matter is that you
Choose to believe
There's no reprieve
From this constant, continual...
Consistent deceit
This contraceptive perception
Manifesting what you believe
'What happens once will come again'
From that there's no relief

That which you take heed from
Is imprinted on your skin
As if you can't reach within
For matters intimate
Second guessing and stressing
While vacantly sedated
Placating under false pretenses
-Keeping sated

-Faded
Like you were the product
Of this aftermath
Attacking the apt capability
Of all you lack
-Underhanded
In the most subtle approach
This perpetual cognizant apparition
Of these ghosts

Furthermore
They boast and beg recognition
Putting prescriptions to their name
Like defacing prepositions
Could well esteem their fame

I maintain that I refuse
To be a product of the masses
Drifting whimsically and making victims From my caprices

The end result of my fate
Never created hate
Only this conditioned position
From which I now must escape

I'd rather sit
Listen and contemplate
Than justify my shame
I'll take the pain
Of my twisted thoughts
Before letting them run astray

No one pray for me
Because I've done this once before
And sanction I will find
Within this mind
Before I hit the floor
Dawnstar Feb 2018
Chalkstone paved
        The unceremonious call
        Of a yellow machine
Dry craters where forests once grew....
        If the moon is out,
        And my hunger is sated,
They may grow anew.
II/IV
People commit suicide when their soul is dehydrated
When thoughts outside a solid wall can not be gyrated
All embers grow cold and vacant like they've been sedated
Or maybe caved in because once inflated to a certain extent
There's no room to be sated when only knowing wicked intent
A body needs to be caressed and let a broken bone mend
To make it flexible and elastic -first shown how to bend
It's nothing fantastic but merely a lesson on how to cope
How to watch yourself rebound from any and all hope
How to break down and realign then redesign the entire mind
Seeing being beaming retreating
screaming at you
with NOTHING inside

And how that harrowed hole bores into how you're defined
And how time is the only place left to fill an empty space
So hollow at this point it feels like it can just be replaced
The following revolutions come one second at a time
If you can't find the courage for evolution
You're destined to rewind
It manifests as a habit building pressure in your mind
Until one day what's filled up has pressed your luck
Because guess what? it was the same as the last grind


The only healthy circle comes from an innate sense of being
When you reach within all you've been and all that you are seeing
And when you find the epitome of all that you have sought Remember all in practice & nothing that lasts is bought Overcoming tragedy found through glory and no retreat
While marching to the sound of your heart's personal drumbeat Will be lost to you over and again yet returns at a single thought It's no predisposition but practiced, understood, then conditioned When you open your ears and truly listen

Not all times do diamonds glisten.
No footprints are left behind without a vision.
No wisdom is borne without decision.
Nothing changes without remission.
No fault is known without admission.
No script was written without revision.
No skill ever mastered without precision.

So when you spend time wondering how things could have been different.

You'll do yourself a favor instead wondering what it all meant.
zebra May 20
There is a part of us
that isn't quite alive
until hollow-starved lunacy is sated

while showing the bright side
her hidden darkness emerged
when i tricked her into hurting herself

she would say come on trick me, trick me, trick me
and i would tell her
Count Dragool with ****** tube fingers
would take her slow
if she hit her self hard across the mouth
and she would scream to Eden
bash mashley thrash me
i want the men with red tridents
and ding **** tails too
while she watched my eyes
like surveillance drones
as if a great confederation of *****
marched towards her

certainly not painless
but the pain of an addict
who knows all to well the pleasure of the needle
first the little sting and then the great oooow
of becoming  eaten kingo flinks
and potato chips

she is butter on the stove
im the rare drug
a Do Do bird beaking flesh
a cold hard *******
she a yielding intricacy of complications
a bald Rapunzel
feeling under abused till now
with black crow lips and jumbo bangled earings
like a long jangling math problem that ends
with a big O

O popping blood berries
like pink flower hysterical *******
shooting bullets from tattooed
hip belted pistols
on a singing red bed

her limbs a yawing stretch
of insanity sane
her body a torn zipper
being yanked up and down
a frenzy of crying blasphemies and raw kisses
dancing the bend over
on knotted knees
incised a writhing dance cha cha

creel of blood
cha cha cha
Red Brush Aug 2018
Innocence unappreciated
Left; it wasn't mine to keep.
Never would I ever be sated;
Knowing just made me weep.
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