poeticdesires

Category: Poem

  • Wordplay

    ~ a pittance poetry ~


    1)

    Deep in the forest, creeping through the almost night
    Drifts a little girl clinging to a small light.

    She wanders and cries, and holds her beam tight
    Not knowing what dangers lurk or could fright.

    She wishes she were home, weeps at her plight
    For she does not know how exactly to fight

    The fear welling against her little child might
    That there is something in the woods that will bite

    Or claw or tear or scream or scare or quite
    Frankly, more horror the thought, invite

    Her terrors to rise to worse heights
    Like her lost toy, this her search for her white kite.



    2)

    Don’t tell me what to say
    Don’t tell me how to play

    Don’t pretend you’re nice
    Don’t pretend I’m your vice

    Don’t smile and lie
    Don’t ask or pry

    Don’t give or take
    Don’t feint or fake

    Don’t love and leave
    Yet be what I need

    Do smile and ask
    Do test and pass

    Do open yourself up
    Do let it erupt

    Do tell truths
    Do kiss my bruise

    Do hold me tight
    And be just right

    3)

    He loved me
    He left me
    He healed me
    He cleft me

    In two to live
    In two we give
    In true our hearts
    Incur love’s darts

  • Hooked

    ~ a poem ~


    You feel like a drug.

    The rush
    at just
    the smell of you.

    The high
    when your hands
    are on my body,
    when your lips
    touch mine
    and we kiss.

    God, when you’re inside me.
    It’s almost…
    almost too much.

    I feel like
    an addict,
    always craving
    the high of you,
    the high of us
    together.

    I can’t stop
    thinking about you,
    your hands,
    your lips, 
    my next hit.
     
    How much will I get
    this time?
    Enough to last
    the night?
    A few hours?
    Or maybe just
    til you leave.

    And then I’ll sweat
    and shake.
    I’ll ring my hands
    and pull my hair.

    I’ll wonder:
    What can I bargain?
    What can I do
    to have more of you?

    You are my drug.
    I am your addict.
    And I don’t ever
    want to kick the habit.

  • There It Is

    ~ erotica ~

    I can hear the rest of the party in the background. The loud DJ. The coworkers laughing and dancing in the awkward drunk way drunk people do.

    The door is locked. The door…is…locked. I locked the door when we snuck in, I think. God, I hope I locked the door.

    She smells so good. She smells so…fruity, berry, something good.

    Her lips taste so right. God, I love the taste of her lips. And the lime tinge of her drink still on her tongue.

    The feel of her thighs, crotch grinding against my leg. My hand gripping her ass, pulling her closer. My fingers entangled in her hair.

    Our breaths, so heavy. Her tongue, my tongue. We are kissing. Holy shit, we are kissing! I am making out with her in the supplies closet! Holy shit!

    The feel of her body against me. Sucking on her neck. Oh, that sound. Her little lilt, and then a sigh. 

    Her hands in my hair, gripping my hair, pulling me in closer. She loves this. Good, cause I love doing this to her.

    Teeth? Yes, teeth. Is she moaning? Teeth and suck and her neck and her scent and her body against me and our breathing and fuck…

    How long have we been in here? Fuck, I don’t care.

    Against the wall, the cool dark supplies room wall. Could I? Should I? Slowly. Do it slowly.

    Fingertips, fingernails, softly scratch, down the side of her ass. Fingertip. Hook the skirt. Dance on the edge. Will she? Will she? Up a little. A little more. God I feel how near I am. I feel the heat of her crotch.

    I just want to… I just want to… I just want her to cum. I want to hear her cum.

    Just a little flick. A light little touch. A soft circle. That was definitely a moan. A harder circle. A harder circle. Two fingers. Her hips. Her hips are in rhythm with me. Fuck, I want her to cum.

    Faster. Faster. Faster. She smells so good.

    Faster. Her moans, oh God her moans.

    Faster. Faster.

    Is she building? Is she building? Her hands are gripping harder. Her hips are grinding harder.

    Faster. Faster. Faster. Faster. Faster.

    This. Is. It. This. Is. It.

    There it is.

  • Never Said

    [written beside a fire with the sexual energy of camp & the flames as inspiration]

    ~a poem~

    I bite my lower lip,
    the way I often do when I’m nervous,
    and bounce on the edge of my toes.
    But then I look at him,
    And say it, finally…

    “Gaze upon me as if I were a painting…
    No, a steak…
    No, your last meal;
    each curve, each inch of my skin
    your tongue’s last morsel.

    Touch me like plush,
    Like velvet,
    Like…like clay,
    each kneade,
    each caress,
    each glide of the tips of your fingers on my skin
    shaping me closer to my true form.

    Kiss me like your lips are on fire
    and my mouth is your water.

    Fuck me.

    Fuck me like we are fire,
    burning red hot for each other,
    the flames of your tongue licking my skin,
    the searing of your hands scorching lust over my body.
    Fuck me like you don’t care the day, time, place, or manner.

    Fuck me like you want it,
    need it,
    crave it,
    keep it.

    Fuck me like I’m your landlord and rent is due tomorrow.

    Fuck me like it’s illegal.

    Fuck me like you’ve been poisoned and my pussy is the antidote.

    Fuck me like it’s your last day on this earth.

    Fuck me like you love me.
    Fuck me like you love me.

    Oh please, god, just fuck me…”

  • Can’t Let Go

    ~a poem~

    There’s just something
    About the smell of his leathers,
    The engulfing aroma,
    When he is near,
    That I can’t let go.

    There’s just something
    In his stare,
    His eyes fixed
    On me,
    Seeing me
    Through to my bones,
    That I can’t let go.

    There’s just something
    In the way he squeezes
    My hips,
    Digging into my flesh,
    And the final
    Bite of his nails
    That I can’t let go.

    There’s just something
    In how he pulls my hair,
    Craning my neck back,
    Guiding me anywhere,
    That I can’t let go.

    There’s just something
    In his worship of my ass,
    Caressing my cheeks,
    And the crack!
    Of his spanks,
    That I can’t let go.

    There’s just something
    About when he fingers my clit,
    Teasing me mercilessly,
    Til I beg him for release,
    That I can’t let go.

    There’s just something
    About when I ride him,
    My legs straddling his thighs,
    Feeling like I’m
    Being fucked
    Even when I’m
    On top,
    That I can’t let go.

    There’s just something
    In his kisses,
    His raw, passionate,
    Yearning kisses,
    Enveloping, unrelenting,
    Never ending kisses,
    That I can’t let go.

    There’s just something about him,
    Dark dominant him,
    My Daddy,
    My Master,
    My love,
    That I can’t let go.

    And there’s just something about me,
    How I feel when I’m with him,
    Of him,
    For him,
    Only his,
    That I desperately can’t let him go.

  • I Miss You

    It’s not your clothes. God, you are such a slob. With your tattered jeans, ruffled thrift store polo’s, and sneakers that barely stay together. I don’t miss your clothes.

    And it’s not your apartment. Books in piles randomly set. Your eclectic collection of old school Nintendo 64 games. And your Game Boy, at the edge of the TV table, with either Kirby Pinball, Chess, or Tetris inside, the only three games you played on it. Your bathroom that was never cleaned. Your bedroom, the most acceptable room, with only strewn about clothes as its vice. Your kitchen, which you never used to cook. Just the microwave, the fridge, with its many leftover containers, and the sink piled high with glasses and silverware. No, I definitely don’t miss your apartment.

    But your scent after you’ve come back home from a run. That delicious mixture of sweat and old cologne. The way I sometimes sniff your ratty t-shirt that you left at my place once, hoping to pick up that scent. I do miss that aroma.

    And your hair. Thick, black, perfect when it’s messy. Stuck to your face in the morning. Stuck to your face after a run. Stuck to your face as we fucked. My fingers ran through, gripping hard. And the way you’d nestle your head in my chest as I massaged your scalp. Yes, I miss your hair.

    Oh, your arms. So strong, yet not obviously so. The way you’d hold me tight, pull my body into you whenever we hugged. Hello or goodbye. The way you’d suddenly pick me up into your arms, lifting me in glee, and then dumping me on the couch. On your bed. On the floor. And us either giggling as you tickled me mercilessly or grunting as we began kissing and fucking. I do long for your arms.

    Your lips. Your perfect mouth. The way you gave soft subtle kisses. Teasing. Pleading. Light wisps of your lips with mine, kisses. Deep. Desperate. Passionate, enveloping my being kisses. Lost in the moment. Head and heart suddenly one, kisses. I dream of your lips.

    Your eyes. As you gazed on me while I snoozed in your lap. The way you’d always look so damn happy in the morning when I shoved you to wake you up because you never heard your alarm. When I’d peek, for just a second, as we fucked, and saw the way you loved me when you were inside me. When you brushed an errant strand of my hair away, put your arms around me, pulled me in close, lightly nuzzled your nose against mine, and stared through my eyes as you said for the first time, “I love you.”

    Those eyes, your eyes. Your hair. Your arms. Your lips.

    I miss you.

    [Side Note: Since this is a poem, I decided to give you, my fair readers, a treat.  For your listening pleasuring, the following is a link to a download-able WAV file of me reading said work.  Enjoy.

    Link: I Miss You.]

  • Not Part Three

    It’s Christmas you perverts; did you really think I was going to have the time to be thoughtful and imaginative when I have family and roommates and presents (oh, presents) to handle. For fuck’s sake, I stayed up til 3:15am finishing one of the gifts I gave (a blanket that was suppose to have been given back in August; yup, it took that long).

    However, since you actually ventured to my little internet hideaway, I won’t leave you wanting.  For your enjoyment, I’ve posted some of the pieces I wrote in my grimy poetry house days. Yes, that means I cheated. Good thing my Daddy hasn’t arrived yet. Otherwise I’m sure my ass would have gotten a right good lashing (and he’d call it my Christmas gift).

    So enjoy these oldies but goodies:

    Tryst

    She laid across the chaise,
    an odalisque of ebon marble,
    with a kir in one hand,
    and her raven coif flowing over her bare chest.
    Con fuoco eyes seized me,
    ordering my entrance into the chasm within her.
    Our torrid bodies coagulated until,
    in the cacophony of our screams,
    my chastity escaped from my body into her.

    Stolen Sight

    Small little peaks,
    Small little moments,
    Excite me.

    He sat next to me,
    Crouched over in the chair,
    Angled away from me, just so.

    His shirt slipped up, and,
    At his belt line,
    A patch of skin from his back was displayed.

    With all my restraint
    And all my strength,
    I kept from brushing my fingertips,
    Or just flat out licking,
    That delicate exposed area
    I longed to make mine.

    　


    What I want

    If I wanted sex, I’d always look cute.
    Primp my hair, makeup on my face.
    Boots to the knee to keep up the pace.

    If I wanted sex, no shoe would be flat.
    Every skirt would be short,
    Every shirt showing cleavage. No pants.

    If I wanted sex, I would be demure, sweet
    Smile on my face, roses on my cheek.

    But I don’t want sex; I want to fuck.
    Cause your pretty little sex just isn’t enough.
    　

  • As She Slipped

    ~erotica~

    As she slipped
    into the sweet embrace of sleep,
    her mind wandered on the thought of his hands.

    She imagined them
    gliding up her legs,
    and gently pulling down her panties.

    She felt them
    softly part her thighs.
     
    She visioned them
    brushing her sensitive skin,
    carefully scratching and caressing the delicate flesh.

    Her mind floated
    to the thought of his lips.
     
    Light kisses on her thighs,
    creeping a circuitous trail
    towards their warm end
    on her clit.

    She mused on the thought of his tongue,
    spelling out love poetry,
    as she writhed to its slightest movement.

    Her hands in his hair,
    pulling his face in close.
     
    Her moans of pleasure
    as the warmth grew in her abdomen.
     
    The sweet scent of her pussy juices
    dripping from his mouth.

    And that blessed surrender,
    the agonizing ecstasy,
    of fucking his face til she came.

  • Written Raw

    Rope Camp Memories continued…

    Written Raw, a poem

    My tears wait on the edges of my lids, permission for their exit pending. Overwhelming emotions, conflicting joy and sorrow, push and pull my heart to pieces. Hiding the tornado of feelings, my face gives the world a smile, or a grin, or a smirk, all lies to appease the soft sensibilities of the herd. If only they knew what my true face looked like: twisted, wrenched with a pain so deep it takes physical form in my puffed cheeks, my tense forehead, my wailing eyes. This version of me I hide from them all.

    Alone, my only company the croaking of frogs and the chirping of insects, I still don’t allow the tears to come. Even now, I lock away my pain, but from who?

    I know I aimed too high, lived too fast, loved too quickly. And so I’m stuck, the unhealthy thoughts drowning my heart, the weight of their constant barrage pulling me down. When will my life be all that I hope for, all that I wish for, all I dream of? When will I really, actually, truly be happy?

    I feast on my salty tears, now. Maybe I will be able to fall asleep tonight.

    ~

    I wrote this poem, sitting in HQ, the dim illumination of a clip light guiding my hand. Bugs swirled about, and the frogs sung me a lullaby, as I scribbled my thoughts in eloquent phrases, trying to give beauty to my sadness.

    It took me putting these words to paper to understand the pain I was in. I had not realized how much I’d come to love my adopted cabin, and how much I would miss them when we all had to part ways. With my takedown now scratched, and the ache of the hurt and disappointment still raw, there was no other adventure to look forward to, no other scheme or scene to plan or play. All that was left was breakfast and goodbyes.

    I fell asleep soon after completing that poem, the dam of emotions inside me broken, my outward masked face washed away. That night I cuddled with Cabin Shell, pushing the sadness from my mind, allowing myself to sink into a denial of how hard the next day would be.