"toughing" poems
An unrequited lust
A long hard journey
That began some eight hundred days ago
A burning passion
As plans were made
Three hundred days
Until their final destination
A dark haired man
A curly haired beauty
Finally joining sight
As they gaze upon each other
A swift run to hug
An everlasting embrace
Perfection of scent
And joyous blending of heartbeats
A quiet ride to the house
A new home
A perfect home
One filled with laughter and love
A soft embrace
A gentle kiss
A wave of desire
Overcoming the odds
A deepening of kiss
The toughing of tongues
A thirst for love
That has gone so far unquenched
The shedding of clothes
The removal of barriers
Skin on skin
In rapturous delight
A wave of desire
Yearning touches
A need to be
Part of the whole
A long hard shaft
A warm wet cave
Legs intertwined
One perfect being
The rising of heat
The smell of humidity
The buoyant cried of joy
The energetic moans of ecstasy
Panting together
Never letting go
Finally at a place
Where they both belong
Waiting their time
They made it
Overcoming the evil
They made it
Fighting the odds
They made it
The long hard walk
They made it
Together
Forever
Love conquers all…7411
Sep 13, 2010
Sep 13, 2010 at 1:07 PM UTC
The soft bed
In which we lay
On one another
Kissing
Feeling each other
As we are in the dark
Your hands rub my side
Rubbing my arm
Moving slowly
Forward to my breast
I inhale as I am craving more
We roll over
To where you on top
You massage my breast
And **** on my neck
Going down licking my chest
******* my *******
I moan
As I tug at your hair
You start bitting, tugging
As I bite my lower lip
And move my hand down
Feeling your chest rise, and fall
Going down your stomach
I start rubbing it
As we kiss
I start handing you
Going up and down, faster
I lick the tip feeling *****
I ****
Deeper, faster, wet
Turn around for a better angle
As you grab my ***
And start ********* me
"Oh god," I moan
I feel you wiggling your finger
As you add another
I moan as you *** in my mouth
I swallow
I turn around yet again
I slowly put you in me
Feeling full
I bounce myself
Riding you
We kiss
Toughing
As we go faster, harder
You *** all over me
As I moan
And kiss you again
Like I am free
**** we smile
As we fall asleep I feel complete
And in that night,
And in your arms,
I lay.
Nov 20, 2013
Nov 20, 2013 at 9:20 PM UTC
I don't think you realize how many times I've been hurt.
Really hurt.
Like the first scrape of summer,
when you fall off your bike.
Until you've done it so much,
you feel numb.
You know the pain is still there.
You don't want to know though.
Toughing it out takes time.
There's no band-aid for the blood shed.
And no one to kiss it and make it better,
because it's not supposed to hurt anymore.
So you stand up the next time you fall,
bruised
torn
broken.
For everyone to see.
But can you really have bravery,
for ignoring the pain?
Sep 1, 2012
Sep 1, 2012 at 12:41 AM UTC
A female Buddha,
the way she sat, not
love making, that some
other. Cross-legged,
he remembered her,
on that blue sofa, the
Mahler playing from
her hi-fi, her oval face,
soft features, that loud
laughter, the Glaswegian
accent cutting through
the attempted English
tones. The bottle of whisky
opened, the glasses filled,
supped, sipped or what
ever the word is, it happened.
It’s no good taking some
people out of the slums,
she said, you need to take
the slum out of the people.
She looked then nothing
like the former nun she
had been, he thought,
perfume invading the nose,
her hair piled in some out
of date Beehive, some
French queen prior to
revolution, she sat, glass
in hand, other plump
hand toughing his thigh,
rubbing her fingers up
and down. She wanted
to stir his pecker, wanted
motion through his jeans.
He listened to Mahler,
gazing beyond her at the
painting on the wall, that
tat she collected. Her
hand rubbed higher, her
soft tones suggestive, her
talk of slums and slum
dwellers put aside. An
evening of *** ahead, in
bed or on the sofa, with
the female Buddha, her
plump ******* thighs,
arms, maybe lost there
amongst the folds of flesh.
She despised his Marxian
philosophy, loved his
****** prowess, his proud
perfect pecker. He loved
her whisky, her soft to
touch skin, her spread legs
to allow him in. The female
Buddha gone now, her
heart gave out, he was told,
and looking back, years after
years, his youth misspent
at times, too much *****
*** and moral lack, he had
moved on, improved, but
loved to smile and look back.
Apr 13, 2013
Apr 13, 2013 at 2:57 AM UTC
you grow your beard out a little in may and look
like a flyboy in 44 with a soft face, soft mouth
just toughing it out to get home to apple pie and books
the one with the glasses, so to speak.
new, but in a way that says "if i shaved it
i'd be cutting away the memory of every bead
of sweat i shed in the time that this all grew"
and you look at me and god
those are .50 calibre eyes
green as the pacific
clamouring with all the pain and silence
of its little islands.
May 23, 2011
May 23, 2011 at 9:19 PM UTC
Heres the thing
I broke down
And fell to pieces
But heres the thing
Im still here
Im still smiling
My heart is shattered
And the jagged pieces still hurt
But heres the thing
Im healing
The scar tissue is toughing
I still shed tears
I still long for old memories
But heres the thing
I can listen to our song
And its just a song to me now
We're never getting back together
This is the reality
And heres the thing....
Im finally ok with that
Apr 14, 2016
Apr 14, 2016 at 2:48 PM UTC
compared me to
an
platypus
think she
just likes
toughing
them
last
three letters
she felt the word
hydrophobic tingling
on
an
count me in you poem
type
of
feel
she made me feel
as
an
mere
pebbles
in
an
vision
we turn
her into
an
older
pebbles
platypus
in
an
hydrophobic dream
screams miss hydness
?
...
..
.
Jan 19, 2018
Jan 19, 2018 at 9:35 AM UTC