"spiciest" poems - Hello Poetry

There is a new fire in my soul its curves wrap themselves around me sinuous like a hot slithery sheath of flesh snakes of pleasure twirling in my deepest womanflow pumping inside my veins of mesh Those licks of flames caress as they spew they **** in my spirit spit it out anew undulating hips matching my own a middle east song igniting my bones suffusing my blood with the raw, the bare filling me up with sparkling lava, so rare This combination makes for a recipe hot like a piquant ghost pepper in my spiciest spot Now let me weave words Let me conjure your liquids let me drench colors upon your eyelids, my spirit's proximity vivid Let me drown you in madness in frothiest frequencies of love let this symphony play out powers screeching above and as this vivacity beckons the soul in your eyes our stormiest spirals will spill out rainbow fire and rise for as we grow and reach out there is a death of limitation as freedom breaks out in ocean-soaked emancipation Our mutual worlds heal each other's hurts as my tongue licks your wounds rejuvenation asserts hot springs of lifeflow filling up cells sensations of textures a ringing of bells So as I weave this spell around you fear not that you will disappear or thine own self lose for we have only to soar as we coax out the muse

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Nov 27, 2016

Nov 27, 2016 at 6:06 PM UTC

lora-lee

seducing the muse

There is a new fire in my soul its curves wrap themselves around me sinuous like a hot slithery sheath of flesh snakes of pleasure twirling in my deepest womanflow pumping inside my veins of mesh Those licks of flames caress as they spew they **** in my spirit spit it out anew undulating hips matching my own a middle east song igniting my bones suffusing my blood with the raw, the bare filling me up with sparkling lava, so rare This combination makes for a recipe hot like a piquant ghost pepper in my spiciest spot Now let me weave words Let me conjure your liquids let me drench colors upon your eyelids, my spirit's proximity vivid Let me drown you in madness in frothiest frequencies of love let this symphony play out powers screeching above and as this vivacity beckons the soul in your eyes our stormiest spirals will spill out rainbow fire and rise for as we grow and reach out there is a death of limitation as freedom breaks out in ocean-soaked emancipation Our mutual worlds heal each other's hurts as my tongue licks your wounds rejuvenation asserts hot springs of lifeflow filling up cells sensations of textures a ringing of bells So as I weave this spell around you fear not that you will disappear or thine own self lose for we have only to soar as we coax out the muse

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785 They have a little Odor—that to me Is metre—nay—’tis melody— And spiciest at fading—indicate— A Habit—of a Laureate—

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1.5k

Emily Dickinson

They have a little Odor—that to me

785 They have a little Odor—that to me Is metre—nay—’tis melody— And spiciest at fading—indicate— A Habit—of a Laureate—

5

She is a firecracker in a silent room. Her toothy smile which spreads from the centre of her lips to the tips of her ears is contagious. Her eyes are the blue-green colour of the ocean on a warm summer day peaceful at the surface and the magic held within them is reserved only to those who take a closer look. Her hair is golden like her soul and her locks tangle to no end. The springs bounce with every step she takes the ringlets so perfect so you would think them unnatural. But they definitely are; she does not have the patience to sit still for more than an instant her body carrying her wherever fate decides— sitting down to curl her hair would never cross her wild mind. Her laugh comes from somewhere deep inside her slender body somewhere far behind her rib cage where the vibrant rhythm of her body originates. Her heart cannot be contained too big to fit inside even the biggest of bodies. There is not a mean bone to be found in her for she is filled to the brim with love and joy. Her legs must be the 8th wonder of the world so skinny they could snap at the lightest breeze and yet they carry her across tracks so fast you would think she was pacing herself with light not the other children scurrying along behind her. I, too, sometimes feel like I am scurrying behind her for her imagination races at speeds mine never could. She is the most vibrant piece of clothing in the closet the loudest song on the radio the spiciest food at the dinner table. I would like to thank the old, tea-loving Asian woman who has come to reside in my sister’s twelve year old body for making her the most interesting book on my shelf the most watched movie in my collection and the quirkiest soon-to-be teenager I know. The world is not ready for the greatness she holds but everyone deserves a Lily in their life.

0

Apr 22, 2018

Apr 22, 2018 at 11:33 AM UTC

blancheboucher

lily

She is a firecracker in a silent room. Her toothy smile which spreads from the centre of her lips to the tips of her ears is contagious. Her eyes are the blue-green colour of the ocean on a warm summer day peaceful at the surface and the magic held within them is reserved only to those who take a closer look. Her hair is golden like her soul and her locks tangle to no end. The springs bounce with every step she takes the ringlets so perfect so you would think them unnatural. But they definitely are; she does not have the patience to sit still for more than an instant her body carrying her wherever fate decides— sitting down to curl her hair would never cross her wild mind. Her laugh comes from somewhere deep inside her slender body somewhere far behind her rib cage where the vibrant rhythm of her body originates. Her heart cannot be contained too big to fit inside even the biggest of bodies. There is not a mean bone to be found in her for she is filled to the brim with love and joy. Her legs must be the 8th wonder of the world so skinny they could snap at the lightest breeze and yet they carry her across tracks so fast you would think she was pacing herself with light not the other children scurrying along behind her. I, too, sometimes feel like I am scurrying behind her for her imagination races at speeds mine never could. She is the most vibrant piece of clothing in the closet the loudest song on the radio the spiciest food at the dinner table. I would like to thank the old, tea-loving Asian woman who has come to reside in my sister’s twelve year old body for making her the most interesting book on my shelf the most watched movie in my collection and the quirkiest soon-to-be teenager I know. The world is not ready for the greatness she holds but everyone deserves a Lily in their life.

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