"steamy" poems
Do you mind if I sit back and observe the process of the lords creation the subject matter is miraculous the beauty is elegant perfect in every scence my baby girl you stole my heart such a thief ain't you, thinking about seductive things we do sinners ain't we, naughty deeds but the intentions is good it serves needs
What pains me is that I have to let go to regrip your sparkling eyes again, got to move fast so quick that I don't miss the chance to clutch you in my arms again, heaven sent such a gift I cried when you was born I ain't even know you back then because, GOD made you for me I picked up your scent, I know from day one you was mine let us age old together bad and boujee like expensive fine wine, my kiss is possessive the beat of your heart is mine let that foreplay tingle down your spine, open wide going deep let me reach your soul ****** our achievement together it ain't *** it's love
I love you girl no *** postion that can top this deposition let me show you its deeper than *** I'm still into you watch me shift working overtime full time love baby moan out affection go on say the name, our body hum harmony can feel this body heat that steamy love, open wide in deep that creamy love that dreamy love, its deeper than *** the agony an orgams of how our love make our body shiver, I love you, I love you! I rejoice I could say this a thousand times it's deeper than ***
Aug 28, 2018
Aug 28, 2018 at 1:13 AM UTC
Soft melodies of the deep sea echo
Moonlight dances on my pretty scales
And icy bubbles whirl under my chest
Through my slippery hair
And down into my lungs to clear the way for overflowing foam
Laughter splashes behind my lips as my anticipation rises
Waiting for a night of twisted fairy-tales and uncalled for surprises.
Shimmering bodies swarm in spirals
Grinding in unison with the waves crashing at the surface
We're anxious for overflowing foam and hidden treasures
Purple light pierces the dark like shards of crystals
Casting a ghostly shade on bulbous faces
Pressure rises as each wave surges
Whirlpools of hot breath suffocate our gills
But the sidelines are shallow
And stragglers float motionless
Hair like seaweed at the nape of his neck
Unbuttoned linen soaked and dripping
Her hollow eyes glow green
Like the jelly orbs of a fish under florescent lights
She’s pressed against a boy who has hooks for fins
Searching for the parts that are edible
Tender, Scale-less, Slippery
Nothing wrong with being the catch of the day
Right?
Bubbles rise and pop as the last melodies drown
Schools of us are begging for shiny hooks and bad decisions
A handsome boy has been smiling all the while
He’s caught in a fisherman’s net
Craving salty lips and the spell to make him a man
But fisherman don't care for little mermaids
With hearts like sea glass and no hidden treasures to steal
Sweaty fins splash and cheer
The fishbowl shatters
Sea glass spills out onto sand
We squirm and flop onto land
Gasping without air to breathe
As our mouths and ***** thoughts dry in the sun
Leaving behind fresh meat without mouths to feed.
Rainbow confetti was stuck in the grooves of my scales
Wet clothes left on the floor of a steamy bathroom
Gasping and moaning into tile
With the face of a handsome stranger
Because this meat shouldn't go to waste
And I'm drunken with desperation
For overflowing foam, jewels, and shiny hooks
But I'm just another fish in the sea
Tumbling in the waves with my rainbow confetti scales.
Oct 15, 2018
Oct 15, 2018 at 6:00 PM UTC
***** *** and cigarettes
bad decisions, no regrets.
Painted lips and fingertips
lace, leather, gags and whips.
Cheap motels, steamy nights
sweaty flesh and candlelights.
Pushing limits, breaking rules
naked dips in swimming pools.
Getting high while living low
riding rails, pure white snow.
Playing games & telling lies
the look of lust in lovers eyes.
Rendevouz in seedy places
sloppy kisses, hot embraces.
Ménage à trios, or even four
anything goes behind locked door...
Shots of Jack make it all alright-
just another low life night.
Aug 29, 2017
Aug 29, 2017 at 9:00 PM UTC
Every day is the same; they wake up in the same bed, at the same ungodly hour, to the same monotonous ringing from the alarm clock.
They grumble their ‘good morning’s; whether they believe it is or not, rolling out of opposite sides of the duvet.
They dance around each other in the bathroom, the heat of the shower creating a fog through which neither of them can see; causing him to stub his toe on the toilet or the counter, and steaming up the mirror so she can’t apply her make-up.
They continue their ritual into the kitchen; flicking on the kettle, popping in the bread, pouring the orange juice; stirring the tea, catching the toast and spreading the butter and jam. Crunching and slurping together at the table, mumbling about what their days have in store; tapping texts on their phones, crinkling newspaper in their hands.
They peck each other a kiss goodbye and mutter a ‘see you later’ before going their separate ways.
But then Monday comes...
Mondays are different.
He knows she doesn’t like Monday mornings. It’s the very beginning of a new, long, tiring week. She never looks forward to Mondays.
So he changes that.
He sets the alarm on his watch a little earlier than other days; shutting it off before it can wake her.
He slips silently out of bed and tiptoes quietly into the bathroom to shower; leaving her smiley faces and love messages on the steamy mirrors.
He creates her favourite tea and makes her toast with raspberry jam; just the way she likes it. Picking a flower from the garden; whichever one looks the happiest and brightest, he places it all on a tray and pads back up to the bedroom to wake her.
She no longer sets her alarm on Mondays. She knows he’ll not let her oversleep.
He places the flower in her hair and drops delicate kisses; full of his love and affection for her, to the corner of her mouth, until she stirs gently.
She smiles on Monday mornings.
They eat breakfast in bed, covering the sheets in crumbs and giggling contentedly as the cat licks them up.
She hums in the bathroom while he clears away crockery, and always re-emerges with the flower tucked behind her ear.
It remains there ‘til night fall.
They never once look at their phones or the paper, far too focused on each other to pay anything else mind.
Their kiss as they part reminds them of their love for each other and of the good things in life; like strolls along the shore, strawberries dipped in dark chocolate, smiling sunflowers that open to a beautiful summer’s day, and of course, Monday mornings.
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 5:17 PM UTC
With the one pen and pencil
I can draw my way to a better life
Or rewrite my whole destiny
I can go on adventures
Or have a steamy romance
I can let go
I can be free.
Even though my
Freedom is short lived
I can create myself
Into a better human
Jul 13, 2015
Jul 13, 2015 at 12:02 AM UTC
You wait in the elements, for a man who never comes.
You walk to the bus stop feeling hungry.
"There's a sandwich in my bag, but I have no box, it must be wet."
Ugh.
The elderly are getting in the way,
The teenagers making too much noise.
The bus is packed,
It's very steamy, yet cold.
You think about his no show.
You ponder whether he still thinks about it.
But before you know it...
Your thoughts turn back to;
The way my feet are cold and damp,
The way my coat smells like a wet dog,
The way my sandwich is soggy,
and
The way I waited 2 hours for a person who was never turning up.
I am Miserable
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 11:24 AM UTC
Potatoes, potatoes! They grow in the ground,
When you dig them up they're muddy, brown and round,
Potatoes, potatoes! Delicious mashed,
But they don't taste so good if they've been bashed,
Potatoes, potatoes! Steamy in their jacket,
Potatoes, potatoes! Fresh in their packet,
Potatoes, potatoes! Can be made into chips,
Potatoes, potatoes! Are best when they're crisps!
May 1, 2015
May 1, 2015 at 4:00 AM UTC
The back seat of the old Chevy
and that familiar smell of cigar mixed with your scent
Stealing little moments in
the darkness of the night
as the sky lit up and danced
The faint taste of liquor
never felt so good before as it did
from your lips.
Short breaths,
sweaty hands,
whispers echoing.
It all took me to a place better than
the stars
where we collided
feeling mightier than the sky
that roared outside.
The beads of sweat rolling down your back
felt warmer than the
rain drops
that left a trail behind
on the steamy window.
The world outside seemed peaceful
for the thunderstorm
was felt inside.
Nov 18, 2014
Nov 18, 2014 at 9:49 AM UTC
In the mixing bowl
thou hast perfected praise.
Conforming to your mould,
your flaky crust begins to rise.
Steamy and buttery out of the oven,
you make my life chill,
when the morsel of butter enters the
blueberry canyon
to have its fill
Chemically inducing nirvana,
a world in the eye of God,
blueberry bursts of epic epicness
down my throat you trod.
In my stomach you swim, my friend.
"It is not good for muffin to be alone,"
pop goes the cherry muffin to join you,
and in swims a blueberry clone.
Nom nom nom.
Mar 24, 2014
Mar 24, 2014 at 5:54 PM UTC
Yes we did we went out to Phil's
and horked down a meal of fat
not for the old as it'd prolly ****
that's just a matter of fact
Juicy burgers and moist buns
filled with meat and with cheese
no greater feast under the sun
so we ate it quick as you please
We followed it up with Amy's ice cream
creamy and full of the best
something she'd never eaten or seen
putting too shame all the rest
Back at her place
we rolled and we played
we did things that have never been done
Settled our hungers
and settled our moods
our bodies we teased as we sung
I know it's so rude and crude
as she screamed at the top of her voice
beneath her sheets all steamy and lude
"I'm so **** creamy and juicy and moist"
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 11:57 AM UTC
and there…harold dreamt,
he dreamed of a boat,
one with a brown bottom,
and a rusty green rutter,
and it spun
and it spun,
the siem reap river,
of sunkissed toffee color,
he sailed on and on,
and stared at his brother,
he looked up above from the boat,
straight up at the hot steamy sun,
and his large white eyes,
stared up at a bird,
it was white and small,
with slender yellow legs,
that held a grace,
unlike any other
the crane flew in one circle above his head,
harold watched as it plummeted to the brown water below,
and at the last moment of its decent,
it shot up and across his horizon,
until it vanished
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 9:03 PM UTC
sitting here but not
my insides
in a twist
my organs blooming,
their flower landscapes
rising in my solar plexus
like poetry expanding
its cellular shapes
into
light frequencies
I need way more.
I need the pulling off
and stripping down
of souls
I need to meet in
a depth of falling
I need to be pushed off
the silent gates of madness
into endless sea
no looking back
senses piqued
from slightest brush
of oral butter pouring
on hot cream
my mouth, a searing
crimson wound
oscillates in
contraction radar pulses
ripe for intense
tongue exploration
aching to be filled up with
your distinct flavor
My essence molecular is
overflowing with fluid
giving me life
in throbbing, raw
electric vibes
whipped organic, in
rolling tides
Somewhere, out there
our volcanic impulses
meet in steamy ebbs
and send energyflow
to a new and ancient universe,
magnetic
and I am
a raging heaven's child
wrapped in
a tight little
tourniquet
blood pumping
through these veins
my longing for
dark stretches
of intimate caresses
to soothe
the spikes
of snaking pain
Give me
those airwaves that
let me breathe freedom
into the fields of our skin
Let me run like wild herds
of the animal within
and as I find myself
hanging off
my
own
edges
my many-braided loops
in zigzag split,
a-fray
my skin rips open,
parting fibers
that expose my
very
DNA
helix swivel
undulation
hips grinding into
soul
reaching in to
pull out
fresh rebirth
from between my folds
O help me to allay
this tender affliction
undo me, already
so I lose control
one little shove
and I am over the cliff
deep into ocean
**** over spliff
I am beyond ready
so grind it to the hilt
Give me your
tender-ripped heart,
spill your honeycomb milk
I am here, ravenous
in the pan
uncooked yet ripe
saliva and breath
steaming my own innards
flushing out strife
I am piquant hot pepper
ready to be broiled
my blood is already
boiling
my tender meat oiled
mull me over
in your oral cavity
like sacred wine
until I drip
through your bones
and down your spine
Just meld with me
and flow
into that light tunnel
of dark time and space
so I can stake out
my rhythms
and claim
my
new
sacred
place
Aug 15, 2017
Aug 15, 2017 at 12:20 AM UTC
It's started with a hot night
Tangled sheets
Naked bodies
Exchanged juices
Lasted for hours
Addictive desire
Wrap my mind
You by my side
Making me crave for more
Nov 19, 2020
Nov 19, 2020 at 12:22 PM UTC
im
NOT
sexting you
im
NOT
that kind of man
i really never think about such things
and deplore that behavior in my male counterparts
really its disgusting
i never look at your face
and never think
what would it be like to kiss you
to kiss your ***
your drooly pert *****
to be your foot slave
geisha boy
sticky pink
full a joy
boy toy
jolly
lolly
pop
****
im
NOT
lookin at that teensty
little picture of you
and stinckin thinkin
mmmmmmm
is her life all ****** up
is she married to dead in the bed
lookin fer love
is she
hornyyyyyyy
all vanilla
or
a ***** *****
spicy hot *****
who likes it hard
like a delicious hate ****
that's just to
hot hot hot
for tender love
no
ow you beautiful steamy creamy thing
NOT
at
all
ravenous for
feral porkers at the feeding trough
NOT
caring that tomorrow you are my bacon
maybe hoping you wanna be bacon
for a raw lascivious wet mouth
and big teeth
all achy starved
slick yap salivating
like a sopping squeezing porous sponge
to be chewed and digested
no objectification here
hell no
im
NOT
sexting you
NOT!!
Jul 19, 2017
Jul 19, 2017 at 11:46 AM UTC
I am an italicized remark,
your spicy punctuation;
I am your steamy satisfaction,
your permanent vacation.
A unique innuendo,
a read between the lines;
I am a story like no other
as I lick between your thighs.
from Cosmo,
The New Yorker;
A romantic gentleman lover.
A sweet wine you taste-test
and lick around my lips,
I am a kiss you can't resist-
a naked sweat, a seductive bliss.
I am the palm that stings the skin,
a ***** spank than burns within.
I am a moaning, seeping ******
that rumbles with percussion.
I am your emphasized description
although no adjective does justice.
Jul 21, 2010
Jul 21, 2010 at 8:08 AM UTC
We started of as colleagues
Professionals at our peak
Talking to one another
When days and nights were bleak
Working and socialising as friends
And then we'd meet
This friendship turned to lust
With its hot and steamy greets
We played with one another
About once a week
With strong feelings and emotions
I fell at your feet
You held me up for a while
Until your retreat
Your caress then turned to desire
For that only we would meet
Looking back I try and wonder why I did not see
You've left me there exposed you liar, you traitor you cheat!
Feb 5, 2012
Feb 5, 2012 at 2:52 PM UTC
*She was costly Bordeaux
he was recycled biker leather,
her classic affluent beauty
yearned for motorcycle thrills,
she lifted him up a grade
he brought her down to street level,
they fused at steamy rush hours
under trafficked high ways,
pursuant to reckless merging
reality's intersections accelerated
crashing expedited speed limits,
would never again drive
mid smoothly paved junctures
at the standard rate of normal*
Jul 6, 2015
Jul 6, 2015 at 12:12 PM UTC
he, hardly fit,
sleeps fitfully
he, like a baby,
up and down at 2am
the cerebrum racked,
like a street *** so needy,
for a low caloric,
non-alcoholic snack
pickles - the almost zero solution,
dill in particular,
or even the slightly bad boy cousins,
the buttered variety
so in his customized original
100% sleeping skin gear,
standing in front of the shiniest fridge
gleaming,
his unfortunate reflection somewhat
steamy,
indecisive, which, his pickle, to to choose,
which to eat, completely complete,
to celebrate his dietetic restraint
so she, the yoga ballerina lioness,
finds him upright but not uptight,
leaving him in an awkward
so to speak, poem, pickling,
naked and speechless,
as the mouth is fully engorged
and on point
she summarizes
most eloquently,
the ****** and the crudités and the et. al.,
with a succinctly pithy observation:
*"ah, I see (me wincing),
still crazy after all these years*
...and other stories*
Apr 2, 2017
Apr 2, 2017 at 8:03 PM UTC
You are my morning cup of coffee,
My hot, steamy, caffeinated beverage made to wake me up,
I sip you,
Bitter,
Some sugar to cheer you up?
I dowse you in vanilla cream…
Any better my darling?
How come you are so nasty?
Not a morning person either?
Well I can't blame you,
Why do I think I drink so much of you?
Because I like you?
Well I do,sorta, the effects you bring to me are quite uplifting,
I shake,
Nervously,
Oh you startle me and delight me,
I feel comforted as you break open into my bloodstream,
My body on fire and ready to start my long and trying day,
Maybe we can get through this together,
Another cup is what I think I need of you,
Whether bitter or not we can make it through,
So my little cappuccino, so frothy and frilly,
I want you to know that I need you,
Like to start my morning, my every morning
Whether you are just black, or a venti latte with skim and carmel syrup stirred inside,
Or else I be stuck in bed all the time
There be no you to keep me awake or alive,
No reason to go outside and try,
No motivator, no mover, just me living my days on my own,
How terribly depressing I must add,
So I'll keep you company if you keep on stirring my brain with your caffeinated ways
Oct 17, 2012
Oct 17, 2012 at 10:55 AM UTC
How it felt about when she smiled
Her roses were red wine
Teeth were an iceberg in a cold sea
I didn't know she knew me more than by name
I walked head up to her in a confident laze
She always willed to lay a hand in a steamy time
Whenever she called me by my pet name
I would light up a grin
How I couldn't help her spell
How much I belied of having a way out
The more she drew close, the more I sank in
How she made seduction a white collar trade
The lavish eyes, the lazy talk, the pure feminine mien
She pat on my shoulder and turned to catch a glance
Asked what made her hands a soft pleasure
Whispered that she was schooled in pottery and making dough
I couldn't stop but ask about the flawless curves
She pushed out her lips and said I used to spin a ring at nine
I asked her out for a movie
She said tragedies make her cry
One day I went to look down through my office windowpane
My sight met hers taking down a secret gang
With a fierce nine millimeter gun
I was left speechless in awe
We needed to rethink our revolution
On her mission in Damascus a plane crashed
I still cried a pail.
Feb 3, 2018
Feb 3, 2018 at 1:56 PM UTC
Seaweed, steamy
piled high
on baked sand.
Fried flesh with
vacant smiles
attracting flies.
Seagulls scream
as dog chases ball.
Jul 24, 2010
Jul 24, 2010 at 10:50 AM UTC
I don't want smart.
I want spontaneous.
I don't want roses and a candle-lit dinner.
I want drunken nights by the campfire.
I don't want a boy that says 'I love you'
Because I don't believe in love
And, even if I did,
I'm not emotionally capable of feeling it.
I want a boy that's okay with that.
I don't want a boy that showers me with compliments
or a knight in shining armor.
I don't want mushy love letters or romantic get aways.
I don't want a boy who's looking for a wife
because I don't believe in marriage.
And I don't want a lover.
I want a partner in crime.
I want a boy with chaos flickering in his eyes.
I want a boy who smiles a lot.
I want contagious laughter.
I want loud.
I want steamy kisses where he presses my body into his and my skin tingles.
I don't want late night phone calls or 'Good morning' texts.
I want a boy that calls me out on my ********
I want a boy that pushes my buttons.
I want a challenge.
I don't want a boy that makes me feel pretty.
I want a boy that makes me feel alive.
I want a boy that taps on my window in the middle of the night
And brings me on a starlit adventure.
I don't want a boy that makes love.
I want a boy that will **** me raw.
And I want a boy that will let me pass out on him afterwards.
And I want a boy that won't get offended if I move away in the middle of the night
Because cuddling hurts my neck and his heartbeat is keeping me awake.
I don't want a boy that holds hands.
I want a boy that drives too fast.
I don't want a boy that babies me.
And I don't want a shoulder to cry on
Because I'm not fragile
And I can take care of myself.
I want a boy that pushes me into oncoming sprinklers
And doesn't hold anything back.
I don't want a boy that's looking for forever
because forever seems like a really long time.
I want a boy that goes day by day.
I don't want safe.
I want to go fast.
I want to live on the edge.
I want exhilaration.
I don't want to be wanted.
I want to want.
Jan 10, 2014
Jan 10, 2014 at 5:44 PM UTC
Sing a song of Tajmahal
a fine nazm or a ghazal
Of this landmark for lovers
Ah, a lover's edifice
Complete with medieval bowers
It's a Mecca for tourists!
Tis sensational, tis exceptional
tis truly a touristy place.
Watch the shimmer of its magnificent marbled dome
Moonlight or sunlight, it glimmers of imperial chrome
It's ironical then
that though Indian-Arabian I am
I haven't yet been to this touristy place
It is truly as they must say, a lover's shrine
a place where hearts duly incline
They find it steamy
I find it dreamy
Oh, I've got to see for myself this touristy place.
Each of the marbled minarets
conceal such romantic secrets
for lovers to silently explore
to admire and to adore
A place human lovebirds couldn't ignore.
Ah you've got to visit this touristy place!
Two famed lovers lie in the legendary vault below
and the stream too it has a romantic flow
It's a lovers haven and paradise on earth
Even dead passions there undergo a rebirth
Ah, rekindle my love for you in this touristy place!
Extol I may this awesome imposing edifice
A greed for pure love is perhaps better than avarice
Löng live the legend of Shah jahan and Mumtaz mahal
Long live love and love like a Moghul
so forever we have this monumental grace!
Yeah take me my luv to this touristy place!
Jun 11, 2019
Jun 11, 2019 at 2:11 AM UTC
Grumbling engine underground
Again
Rotates and repeats.
The echo
The steamy yawn
Mellow fiend unseen
Creeps
Bearing teeth in metallic joints.
A fat snake's yawn
Blows and bellows quietly.
Uncoloured ornament at ten feet
Floats through that crawling wind
Full from everything it could eat.
***** sand in the far east
Rustic in the sense of dripping spit.
The blue walls painted over the white plain
Are scratched
White walls slain.
Drilling ripple
In the black pool
Ink
Coloured the lonely riddle.
A cold under the sun
Blinds our noses
Disguising away our senses.
Oct 7, 2018
Oct 7, 2018 at 5:29 AM UTC