"sensuously" poems
how easy it is to write a poem
of unrequited love
an ode to that insatiable hunger
that lives unwelcome in the pit of
my stomach
and slowly eats away at me
gnawing a black hole into that space
an emptiness i couldn't look at
its darkness burned brighter than
the eclipsed sun
who always called with the most
beautiful voice and promised that
if i simply stopped averting my eyes
i would most certainly become one with you
and i forsake my sight
to have your heat
your radiation from all parts of the spectrum
to burn my traitorous eyes right out of their sockets.
how different it is to write
of contentment and perhaps even
a love that i can reach out and touch
without having it sublimate each atom of my being
and reduce me to a radioactive ash
scattered to the wind.
it's a love that i can submerge myself in
it presses in all around and the
mega-Pascals of pressure simply reach
a placid equilibrium with my porous skin
i breathe it in and my lungs
somehow learn to pull the oxygen from
the molecules of liquid desire and vitreous joy
and it fuels my body
infiltrating and inhabiting every cell
feeding my muscles as i
sensuously move my body
fluid as the frigid water around me.
May 3, 2015
May 3, 2015 at 2:37 PM UTC
Flavored hukkas are passed around,
Alcohol and paan bring the mehfil alive,
The Ustad ji sits down and flexes his fingers,
He knows he’ll be working all night.
Dha dhin dhin dha, dha dhin dhin dha
Na tin tin ta
Ta dhin dhin dha,
Move the Ustad ji’s fingers on the tabla.
While with a veil on her face,
And feet dipped in and henna-colored,
Lips in cheap red lipstick covered,
She unfalteringly, gracefully enters.
Her steps are matched by the chhan chhan
of the ghungroos tied around her ankles so slender.
Eyes set on her, feast on her youth,
Just right for the taste of all her customers.
Bejeweled hands placed on waist,
She stands at the centre of attention,
She lifts a foot, readies to dance,
And begins the nightly convention.
Skillfully, perfectly, sensuously move
Feet well-trained since childhood days,
Harmonizing with the timbre
That the Ustad ji creates.
Tin tin na dhin na dhin na
On the tabla, experienced fingers beat.
Chhan chhan chhan chhan,
She dances, repeating the rhythm with her feet.
Metal bells strike against one another
And chhan chhan chhan-a chhan she goes,
Making breaths prance and jump,
As she strikes on the ground her heels and toes.
Then suddenly she stops and gasps,
Over disgruntled, impatient groans she tries
to hear the sound that flows in, only to her ears.
Several rooms away, a baby cries.
Naach! A voice booms,
Arey naach! More join in.
A glass of wine is shattered by an irritated one.
But she stands still, clutching her chest, frozen.
One sways up to where she stands,
For the veil covering her face, his hands dive.
He uncovers her, but is blinded by the sight of her beauty
And her tears that fill her kajal-smeared eyes.
She’s shaken back to reality as she looks all around.
Her sparkling pall is off her face.
She sees all those drunk men who’ve paid to watch her dance.
She knows she has to make the sound of the cries fade away.
So she stomps her feet on the ground till it hurts.
Hair flying out of braid, bangles clanging,
Anguish replaces her innocent loveliness,
The music in the air is now shrill, jarring.
Her steps match with the tabla’s rhythm no more.
But she dances, planting her feet so hard they weep.
She silences every sound with the noise of her ghungroos,
Praying that the night will lull her wailing son to sleep.
Jun 22, 2012
Jun 22, 2012 at 1:11 PM UTC
Black dress,
Black lace shawl,
Red cherry violin,
Black frets and strings,
Black bow, white mane or tail,
Tensely poised
To move along the strings
In dances sensuously slow,
Tantalizing strings
To vibrations sublime,
Singing listeners to sway
Eyes closed, adrift, in
Streaming consciousness.
Other movements quick and sharp,
Impossible for any heavy-wielded harp,
Dancing pirouettes of sound,
Jetting needles sharp,
Then reeling tremulous...
These caterwaulings of a horse's tail
Held tautly on a stick.
A deaf man here beside me,
Only seeing, reads about
The music that I hearing, feel...
Somehow feels the Muse,
Sways to the dancing bow.
Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 11:17 AM UTC
I love the way you stare at me blankly from behind your coffee.
You take slow, painstaking sips...
It suggests exciting ***
I love the way you sensuously lick your lips,
every time you put the cup down.
I love the way you're not flirting with me.
I love that you tell me your **** looks amazing in those leggings.
I know.
I love the way you say my name-
distantly,
boringly,
disinterestedly.
Your mind a million miles away, on another man-
You tell me how nice his **** is.
I smirk and tell you I'm glad that we're friends.
You're a special kind of torture.
Feb 17, 2016
Feb 17, 2016 at 2:49 PM UTC
bring me wine
and food
quench my thirst
my hunger
dance for me
slow sensuously
arouse me
with your body
lie with me
satisfy
my needs
my fantasies
Jul 2, 2021
Jul 2, 2021 at 9:19 PM UTC
He had suddenly spoken that day-
Gaze fixed at the cup of ice cream in his hand,
As his other hand caressed my hair,
In the gentle coolness of October air-
That whenever he saw half-melted, half-scooped out
Strawberry- soft, thick, flowing, pink,
He would always think,
That when a spoon would run over,
Its smoothness to subtly scrape,
How sensuously it would fall like a poem,
In graceful curve, in rhythmic shape.
"And over the cold, ragged edges that remain,
I run my fingers", he said,
"And I get that feeling- you know?-
When you rub your palm against red velvet?
Yes, that!"
I nodded, feigning understanding, but oh!
How there could be poetry in strawberry,
I had not the slightest clue,
Until he smeared some with his fingers,
And slowly kissed it off my lips.
Then, I knew.
Oct 26, 2012
Oct 26, 2012 at 1:50 PM UTC
You were draped across a girlfriend's bedroom wall
where a cross would be,
your arms held out loosely like an ambiguous invitation,
shielding your countenance from extraneous intrusions
under which she would sleep soundly
in the shroud of your incantation.
Your fallen angel wings beating back bad dreams
slain mercilessly
and falling at your feet.
Your lips slightly pouting, eyes dark,
obfuscating the madness and sex-crazed hallucinations
they harbor.
Hair purposefully unkempt,
disheveled sensuously atop your head,
tufts of hair brushed across your broad chest--
Bare muscles taut and taunting,
placed topographically on the poised temple--
those ready to worship bow their heads
in reverence to the sonic alchemist.
The modern adonis,
sculpted out of the Mississippi Delta Blues
and Dionysian wet dreams--
brought to life with the electric current pulsating through the microphone and its stand upon which you straddle with skin-tight leather pants--
Your left hand around its waist,
your right cupped over the phallus--
your lips part and your cataclysmal eyes
envelop the darkness before you--
Your image,
tormented and tantalizing
in an open invitation
to prostrate ourselves before you
and succumb to your hypnotic stare.
The door opens.
Oct 13, 2016
Oct 13, 2016 at 12:14 AM UTC
by the lake at sunrise
a strange dedication hangs in the air
concealed in threads of mist
that hang here, ghostly blankets
suspended by invisible strings
there is a silence without end every where
amorphous, it is as if the very elements themselves
hold their breath, poised
waiting for something to happen
while a silvery unexplained light
floats like mercury
on the lurid waters of the lake
the world looks on
in hideous and embarrassed silence
as I taste the lamentations of past times
a discord of sympathies swirl about
i cry out strange words
like making a wish in Latin
i am carried in a high altitude of color
through a French Pantheon of poems
and by the lakeside emaciated figures
form a density of mood
dripping in emotional subtlety
which cannot be properly named
my eyes gaze out upon the lake
in a vocabulary of incoherent signs
images that have no articulation
like that of a rancid stain
of ***** on a curved floor
that compares effects of sensitivity
to neurotic symbols
that rest uneasily on the walls
of hospital waiting rooms
a poetic syntax of sonorous symbolism
sensuously slashed
like a very, very sad crossword
I am high by the lakeside at sunrise
Apr 25, 2015
Apr 25, 2015 at 9:59 AM UTC
We sat cozily on the couch listening to Miles Davis
She, curled up with a glass of Chardonnay, me, a warmed brandy snifter
It seemed an eternity since we made time for each other like this
We enjoyed our home in silence, absent our attention grabbing offspring at Grandma's.
I savored the scent of her lavender infused body snuggled in my arms
Her beautiful brown eyes reflected flickered light
The candles we transplanted from our earlier bath, burned slowly
And "Kind of Blue" transported us as we held each other.
"May I have a sip of your brandy?" she asked coyly with a smile on her face
"Of course," I handed her my glass
"Not from your glass," her smile turned into a mischievous grin
The vanilla and oak from the brandy permeated the air above the gulp I took into my mouth.
My heart rate increased, my eyes closed, and our smiles met pressed together; Heaven is real...
Her lips parted, she pulled the brandy from me along with my tongue that now danced with hers
The fire of the brandy that left my mouth warm, now slid down her neck in one smooth swallow
We took great care in kissing each other, sensuously, passionately, time stood still, for us.
Luxuriating in this kiss, a tear fell from her eye, met only with the tears that fell from mine
As our mind's eye recalled the love we have endured over these adventurous years together
Brandywine never tasted this divine as from the lips of my beautiful lover
Lightheaded, more so from her than from the alcohol, I smiled and held her closer to me.
"I Love you Husband!"
"I Love you more Wife!"
-----ChawzzyScript
Apr 13, 2013
Apr 13, 2013 at 8:16 PM UTC
Once a place of crossing,
on this sensuously and
precariously warm
February day
I have come to be still,
and to watch, and to listen.
Shadows of trees,
so immensely tall,
stay oddly motionless
under green river water,
even as the surface
moves and swirls
carrying itself ever onward.
Leaves and mud are newly wet;
walking is softer, soundless.
Below the path winding upwards,
melted ice sings again as water.
I drink in its sound, soul diving
heart first into perfect, liquid treasure.
Feb 21, 2016
Feb 21, 2016 at 9:35 PM UTC
Havana, I arrive
in the sweaty thickness of July
caliente y picante
steamy sidewalks, steamy women
chocolate brown, tan and
black against the lemon-yellow walls
strolling through La Plaza de Armas
slurping thick café through weathered lips
in La Plaza de Francisco de Asis
dancing on the pregnant gray stones in La Plaza Vieja
timba, rumba, salsa and son
Cristo, Maria, Yemaya and Obatalá
Havana, I arrive
in the intoxication of your breath
between the acrid fumes
of insecticides and 1957 Chevy's
stepping past the dark grime of your slums
streets plush with tight round bodies
beautiful and sensuously swaying
I arrive snaking past the converted palaces
con las turistas ricos
and the buy-me-a-dress-and-a-ring ******
with their enchanting full-tooth smiles
and undulating earthquake-tremor hips
I hear your beat
the machine-gun laughter of your feet
on the hot cobblestones
with the jinateros and street musicians
chants of Santería drifting from pane-less windows
Havana, I smell your heat
under salty faded sheets
smell the long, tobacco-stained nights
with your hips swaying
to the pale drops of ***
spilt from red lips
and the red drops of blood
spilt from your revolutionaries
spilt from the gorging of Machado and Baptista
and 500 years of foreign dominion
In Paseo de Marti
banners of Che Guevara
flapping in the moist tear-laden breeze
Fidel, cigar in hand
tirelessly raging in black and white
on a Russian 1960's TV
Cuba, I can see the green in your eyes
the peeling-paint bedroom dreams and
dirt-poor joy of your richness
laughing out the despair and desperation
dancing out the oppression and the paucity
the aching of your past
the battles of Castillo De Los Tres Santos
of the revolution
of living
and as I stand on the steps of El Capitolio
looking out at the decaying grandeur
I understand why
I will be back
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 3:30 PM UTC
One fearfell a passion-tree:** LOVE**.
Two fell wildly passionately embracing kissing
Hard soft sensuously profusely tender profound heavy breathing.
Then out of the sapphire brilliant blue three said "passion get a room"
Four peeked through the passion keyhole light wanting needing more...
Five felt the sunday sweat of being real close to verify passions' comfy edge.
Six *** *** *** *** *** all whispers still echo sexier passion welcome in one's ear chills.
Anticipation of seven alone together again & again heavens' passion fills anticipates more more more.
Eight big screen dreams enjoy the weather change and the voyeurs passing passion on & on sharing.
Nine ecstasy time for divine mind(s) heartbeat(s) passions' flame as one vibrant strong beat BEATS.
Ten one fell in [PASSION~INFUSED] with love undone. KNOW PASSION lives on & on & on in one.
Sep 20, 2013
Sep 20, 2013 at 2:55 PM UTC
THINK SATIN, not silk and make it sheer black.
RUN IT slowly through sensitive finger-tip skin.
Black satin shimmers.
FEEL IT creamily smooth like alchemized liquid.
Black satin scintillates.
HOLD IT cool against lips and breathe slowly in.
Black satin stimulates.
TRY IT sensuously folded for more sinuous cling.
Black satin slithers.
WEAR IT bravely, accentuate bedtime's nakedity.
Black satin satiates.
THINK SATIN, not silk and make it sheer black.
Nov 1, 2016
Nov 1, 2016 at 9:38 AM UTC
Gaze into a persons eyes,
far beyond the mask
and wonder at the questions
that you’re too afraid to ask.
Gloriously gazing
into depths of deep emotion,
currents running deep
within a cool and placid ocean.
Dive into the loving soul
of one who gives their all
and marvel at the feelings
that are waiting for the call.
Deliberately diving
into strong rolling waves
risking all you have to give
for a lover, to save.
Drift along on the gentle flow
of loves deep warming spring,
exulting at the warm embrace
that begs your soul to sing.
Dreamily drifting
in waters that refresh
you feel its teasing touch
upon your warm and tender flesh.
Swim far out to distant pools
and reach the hearts horizon,
wells of clear compassion
and a strength that’s so surprising.
Sensuously swimming
and content for evermore,
at peace with the heart and soul
of the one that you adore.
...
Melt into a soul-mates sweet
and tender smiling eyes,
never again will you feel the need
to wonder how or why.
All you see within those pools,
is all you could desire,
together let your souls fly free
and set the breeze on fire.
Let your hearts set the rhythm,
beating beneath the sun,
as songs of love and joy ring out,
new life has just begun.
*
Written by Darren Scanlon, 23rd June 2014.
Revised 11th August 2015.
©2015 Darren Scanlon. All rights reserved.
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 1:13 PM UTC
"Dim light please",
I softly wheeze,
as you seductively tease
the nape of my neck
and I sensuously shudder
in my fleshly hearth.
Playfully,
I break away
as my heart sways
in a hitherto unknown desire....
a desire;
that took its time coming
and which is now ablaze
in your eyes so scintillating
that it makes me skip
an already fluttery heart-beat.
You proceed gently
and speak softly
about my mischievous smile,
my expressive eyes,
the curve of my lip,
...... my shapely hip.......
You stroke my hair
with ardent flair
and I listen blithely
to your unfeigned oratory
about a man's intensity,
...his unbridled frenzy.
I hearken reverently
to your admission of piety
and pledge you my fidelity
as long as there is light
in my impractical, dreamy eyes.
As we submit
to the fiery delight
I finally see
beyond the crevice of duality;
into my integrated embodiment
of anatomy and sentiment;
...that I am
and always was
a unique, solitary singularity.
Nov 28, 2019
Nov 28, 2019 at 11:19 AM UTC
The season matters not
When you are out under a beautiful nights sky;
No moonlight to take away the darkness
The stars shining sharp and bright.
Seek my presence upon the lightest breeze.
For I am standing out under the same sky
Gazing upon the same beautiful stars.
I reach out with all the love in my heart
Hoping you will know I am here.
Wanting you to feel me close to your being.
Imagine the breeze touching your cheek
Is me, my fingers ever so lightly,
Sensuously, caressing you as it goes by.
The faintest aroma to softly spark memory.
A whisper in your ear so quiet,
None but you may hear.
For you are as out of reach to me as are the stars.
I stand under the sky and stretch out my arms
To those lights I cannot touch
And to you whom I cannot wrap them around.
So if a mist dampens your hair
It is from the tears I shed in my loneliness;
The longing I have carrying them to you.
For it seems that no matter my true feelings.
Nor the strength of my love.
I will be forced to walk a shadowless night
Of heart breaking sadness.
Dan Gray
2006
Apr 2, 2013
Apr 2, 2013 at 8:35 AM UTC
Smoking is terrible for you - we all know that,
But there's nothing quite as **** as a cigarette
With its wafts of smoke curving sensuously up
Like a winding staircase to heaven.
Maybe it's that, that Bacall and Bogie dance
Of noir fog above a lit cigarette,
Or it could be the intimate way
The word "young" is carved out on your slab,
Or the intimate way that the smell lingers
On the clothes of loved ones long after
You're dead and buried.
Nothing makes a guy harder than rigour mortis.
Apr 12, 2016
Apr 12, 2016 at 1:46 PM UTC
Vibrant Vivre
Vivaciously Vibing
Vines like Vices, stalking
Slippery as Serpents
Sensuously
Engulfing
Light into Darkness
I'm Yours now to Keep
How will this ******* Bind Me or Blind Me,
or Bond Me to You?
Will it be Mutual, Consenting
Or Master to Slave?
Who is Predator
Who is Prey?
I could
Engorge
Expand
Explode
Thread shredding Vine
Into Wine Dripping Bliss
Veins seep leaking
Succulent Juice
What once was mine
Was once Stimulating You
The Other Alternative
I'd rather not Pursue
I like the Heat
Cause this Write is a
Freak...Aaaahhhh
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 8:36 PM UTC
it’s the strangest thing
everyday I suffer from
amnesia
some sort of blackout
I can’t remember….
can’t quite grasp…
something I’ve forgotten
a faint shadow haunting the
outer limits of consciousness
I open my eyes and the
world rushes in
deliciously, sensuously
like the hypnotic aroma
of arabica coffee beans
and other seductive
voluptuous, delectable
tantalizing novelties
So, I chant Your name
light candles, meditate and
pray I’ll remember
who I am
Dec 31, 2014
Dec 31, 2014 at 10:39 PM UTC
How sweet are the sounds of silent kisses?
The aura of Love, sensuously loud
And how are all of my lonely wishes
Answered in the honest eyes I see now
What difference that one person can make
You take my strife and push it all away
You’re like the sunbeams dancing on my lake
Warming my cold waters day after day
And I know this is something that will last
You are the only one that I can see
Who cares about the failures of my past,
Or the demons that are still haunting me?
I have You, that will always be enough.
You are the one I will forever Love.
May 22, 2010
May 22, 2010 at 5:27 PM UTC
His voice faltered at first then faded off..
He watched her slink closer,
carrying her flesh sensuously as some women can.
Her face,
a bewitching vision belonging only in dreams,
contained a gleam of beauty as the nerves of her body were continually smoldering my desire.
She slowly smiled seductively,
as she sensuously stalked him,
shadowing him like a memory of a past lover.
Inches battled for territories on both their bodies.
Then looking him flesh in the eye,
she wet her lips-mingling them with whispered words of:
"I want you" and "I need you."
Second by second seemed to loudly waltz all around them before he finally nodded.
They were intently locked on each other dulling their senses.
They were blinded by their lustful urges.
Both blinking into one another instead of seeing the rare sight of time dramatically dance by.
"Lets get away from prying eyes.
I'll meet you." He muttered huskily.
She sneaked a kiss before slipping away at his words,
becoming lost in the crowd and completely out of sight.
He was close behind and fueled by their passion.
Bringing a heat of a thousand suns on the back of his shoulders.
Jan 9, 2016
Jan 9, 2016 at 4:16 AM UTC
we
have
sensuously fondled
the soul of each other's mentals
with
creative wordplay
prosed verbs and nouns
and emphasized the importance
of the vowels
U and I
we
have
bathed in the
ocean of our imaginations
almost to the extreme of obsession
and composed thoughts of
double digits
like
60nine along with
other numbers and letters
and rhymes with reasons that
b l e w our minds
m a n y
times
we
have
metaphorically
foreplayed to set our bodies aFLAME
and playfully insinuated which vowel was to blame
U or I?
count l e s s times
we
have
f
a
l
l
e
n
into
the depths of
our verses and have been
s w e p t away by
the intensity of our poetic liaisons
e v e r y
s i n g l e
t i m e
©2002cj
Jan 30, 2015
Jan 30, 2015 at 12:41 PM UTC