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Long Senses Poems | Long Senses Poetry

Long Senses Poems. Below are the most popular long Senses by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Senses poems by poem length and keyword.

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Long Poems
Long poem by Beverly Pippin | Details |

Ramen Noodles

:) now this is what Im talking bout .... nothin iz 2 uncommon when all you got 2 eat iz Ramen 
noodles 4 all y'all poodles
 seahorse sonar struggle with senses 
far beyond the realm 
of more than just whats common coinsidences
 crusade 2 overwhelm 
overcomin the fear2 pursuade
 Dominate prominiscent pre made 
cascade undelayed
 Just played it safe 4rum ur Fake-Aid 
you D grade 
ain't tasty Kool-aid 
sweet sugar serenade
 Your gunna need more than just a band-aid 
to fix whats tha matter with brain sprayed splatter
 Greater than or equal to straight trade
 Not wanting to leave wish I culd have stayed
 Don't we all....
 facade to fall..
 winter spring shoreline stahl 
nothin iz 2 uncommon 
when all you got 2 eat iz Ramen 
noodles 4 all y'all poodles
 seahorse sonar struggle with senses 
far beyond the realm 
of more than just whats common coinsidences 
crusade 2 overwhelm 
overcomin the fear2 pursuade..
 Dominate prominscent cascade undelayed
 Just played it safe frum your Fake-aid take to fade
 Greater than or equal to straight trade
 Gotta get paid 

         Warmth blanketing the bitter cold 
cUm•BU•lOnImBUs clouds 
forecast percipatation pretold
 Warning massive ThunderStorm for the following Counties prepare to unfold 
Dis pissed off cloud is about to take off a load 
head off road 
And all you'll hear is rain falling in ode
 Kroak of a toad
 strikeof lighting bright N bold 
then counting the miles in mississippis gold 
till thunder explode
 Under protection of this roof 
behind these shudders
 Stricken sight candle lit light 
rain drainsN2all gutters
 Impaled beneath the moons clutters of the night

 :) now this is what Im talking bout ......
    nothin iz 2 uncommon
 when all you got 2 eat iz Ramen 
noodles 4 all y'all poodles
 seahorse sonar struggle with senses 
far beyond the realm 
of more than just whats common coinsidences
 crusade 2 overwhelm 
overcomin the fear2 pursuade.....
 ruby emerald sapphire diamond jade 
none of which fade
 Frum your fake aid 
fake lime to make lemonade
 Over time meat marinade
 For a stroll in the park serenade 
don't wanna leave wish I culd of stayed
 
Sonic is constantly tailed by a flying fox 
Speedyblue Hedgehog
 with a sack of magicalblue rox 
lookin to take down dat evil Dr Robotnox
 Impressing Goldie-locks 
Millionmile per hour hydraulics 
Off to replace the aftermath shocks
 Magneticly control the hands on all clocks
 To turn twist and rewind back waisted time
 Carry out foward to take what iz mine
 Insanity is 2 insane as Criminal is 2 crime
 Witherin to the weather then wetter 
is 2 whether 5150 if not 4 the better
 It is 4 the cheddar 

:) now this is what Im talking bout ....
 nothin iz 2 uncommon 
when all you got 2 eat iz Ramen 
noodles 4 all y'all poodles
 seahorse sonar struggle with senses
 far beyond the realm 
of more than just whats common coinsidences
 crusade 2 overwhelm 
overcomin the fear2 pursuade
 Dominate prominiscent pre made 
cascade undelayed
 Just played it safe 4rum ur Fake-Aid 
you D grade 
ain't tasty Kool-aid 
sweet sugar serenade
 Your gunna need more than just a band-aid 
to fix whats tha matter with brain sprayed splatter
 Greater than or equal to straight trade
 Not wanting to leave wish I culd have stayed
 Don't we all....
 facade to fall..
 winter spring shoreline stahl 
nothin iz 2 uncommon
 when all you got 2 eat iz Ramen
 noodles 4 all y'all poodles
 seahorse sonar struggle with senses
 far beyond the realm 
of more than just whats common coinsidences
 crusade 2 overwhelm 
overcomin the fear2 pursuade..
 Dominate prominscent cascade undelayed
 Just played it safe frum your
 Fake-aid take to fade
 Greater than or equal to straight trade
 Gotta get paid 

:) now this is what Im talking bout ......
    nothin iz 2 uncommon 
when all you got 2 eat iz Ramen
 noodles 4 all y'all poodles
 seahorse sonar struggle with senses
 far beyond the realm 
of more than just whats common coinsidences
 crusade 2 overwhelm 
overcomin the fear2 pursuade.....
 ruby emerald sapphire diamond jade 
none of which fade
 Frum your fake aid fake lime to make lemonade
 Over time meat marinade
 For a stroll in the park serenade 
don't wanna leave wish I culd of stayed
 
:) now this is what Im talking bout ....
 nothin iz 2 uncommon 
when all you got 2 eat iz Ramen
 noodles 4 all y'all poodles


Long poem by Robert Candler | Details |

The Doctor Is A Dead Man Walking

Bob had a special talent
That only worked in his men’s store.
He had ‘clothing ESP’.
He knew what his customers wanted…and more.

When customer would come into his store
Bob would invariably say, 
“Hello. I'm Bob. Don’t say a word.
I already know what you need today.”

And he was always right,
Never missed a color, fabric, style or size.
He even knew the necessary alterations.
Customers couldn’t believe their ears and eyes.

Meanwhile, in another part of town,
Joe had a pounding, relentless migraine
For every minute for more than five years,
It had driven him near insane.

He’d lost his job to the pain.
Then, he lost his wife.
He had lost a lot of weight and rarely slept.
Yes, his was a miserable life.

And, of course,  sex was out of the question…
Even a little self-abuse.
There was nothing left for Joe but pain.
He felt his life was of no use.

So, Joe went to his doctor.
“Doc, please help me end this pain.
Give me something to make me sleep
And never wake up again.”

“You know I can’t assist your suicide.”,
Then he looked sad, perhaps ashamed.
“I never dreamed it would last five years,
But I know how to end the pain.”

“You can make it go away?!
Tell me, Doc!  What’s the word?”
“I’ll have to remove your testicles.”
Was the last thing that Joe heard.

But…when he came to, it struck him.
Sex was out of the question anyway;
But he might enjoy his meals again,
And he could sleep for days.

“Please check me in, Doc.
This opportunity I cannot shirk.”
So, the doctor removed his testicles.
He did his very best work.

A few days later, Joe waddled along,
Headache free and feeling pretty nice;
But every attractive woman he saw 
Reminded him of his sacrifice.

He decided it was appropriate
To do something nice for himself for a change.
So, he went into a travel agency;
And a six month cruise he arranged.

As he left the travel agency,
He was excited, feeling ready to go;
But for such a glorious adventure,
He would need new clothes.

As he walked along, he saw Bob’s Men's Store.
He walked in, only to hear Bob say,
“Hello.  I’m Bob. Don’t say a word.
I already know what you need today.”

“How could you know?” asked Joe.
“It’s a gift.  I don’t know how, but I do.
You’ve suffered five years with an ailment,
Found relief, so now you’re taking a cruise.” 

Joe could not believe his ears.
How could this stranger possibly know?
"You're right! That's amazing!
And I'm going to need new clothes." 

Bob then laid out a fabulous wardrobe
All the right colors, fabrics, styles…and each size.
Joe was incredibly impressed.
He could hardly believe his ears and eyes.

“How do you like the wardrobe?”
“It’s wonderful!”  Bob could see that Joe was pleased.
“Now,” said Bob, “What about undergarments;
You know…shorts and tees?

Let’s see…medium crew neck tees, all cotton.
I believe that you prefer white….
And jockey shorts, all cotton…. 34s.
Yes, I'm sure that’s right.”

Joe beamed, “You’re an amazing talent
And I just this second realized,
You've laid out this entire wardrobe
And only missed one size.”

Bob, surprised by his mistake, asked, “Really?
What did I miss?  I did my best for you.”
“Well…you’re right.” said Joe, “I do wear Jockeys,
But…well…I wear 32s.

“Oh, no!” said Bob with an ugly grimace.
“That would be a serious mistake.
Thirty-twos would be too small, 
They would cramp your balls.
You’ll get migraine headaches.”


Long poem by Dennis East | Details |

My Amazing Scense Of Smell

Considering the size of it, you'd never think it thus;
It's a rather small and turned-up job - a nose without much fuss.
Now a sense of smell is something that we all just take as read,
But mine has ancient extras up these holes stuck in my head.
Seems my beak is ultra-sensitive; I smell things very quickly,
And I first became aware of this through pongs that I found sickly.

The inherent problems with this gift, I uncovered as a lad,
Is I felt inclined to ‘early warn’ when I smelt something bad.
It made me proud, on outset, of a skill that I could claim,
But instead of worthy accolade, got invariably the blame.
Then the adage, ‘smelt it dealt it’ was immediately applied
To this poor innocent 'non-farting' boy that hardly ever lied.

Well, I quickly learned to deal with this, and kept things to myself;
Except for smoke, and nasty things, that might affect my health.
Then, as an interesting refinement, I detected one thing more;
That my sense could be selective; it could choose who to ignore.
After thinking hard for many years, I’ve declared the skill a throwback
To the days when we all lived in caves and our toilet was the outback.
You see, the ability to differentiate detects a visit from a stranger,
So filtration of one's family meant, you literally ‘smelt danger’.

Another trait this strange sense brought near nailed me to the floor;
It was as I learned the facts of life, and confused me even more.
I was strangely drawn to older girls, whose smell appealed at once,
But with them came a second scent I detected once a month.
Seemed that every time I settled down with one girl in my life,
My selective nose would mask her out, but the rest would all run rife.

And while we speak of odours, here's a fact that I must tell,
That not all perfumes you can buy are to me the sweetest smell.
As some bright sparks thought pheromones the answer to girls’ prayers,
But for me it has adverse effects and keeps my thoughts ‘downstairs’.
It's supposed to trap men through their nose, by animal sex appeal,
And it may well work for certain chaps more easily brought to heel.
But for those of us, I know be few, in tune with nature’s guide,
We’d likely choose to steer away and find a place to hide.

Now, I’m pleased to say the gene has passed on to my eldest child
And just like me she smells it all, from sweetness to defiled,
But unlike me she lets all know that nasty smells are banned,
As she’ll soon ID the culprit of a fragrance if unplanned.
Her siblings have got used to her and pay her great respect,
As they know it’s not just bad stuff that their sister can detect.
She’s known to sniff out chocolate cake and hand it out with glee.
I’m so pleased she’s got this special gift - that could only come from me.


Long poem by Trisha Sugarek | Details |

Fragrance of Life

Fragrance of Life  ©

Cool rain drums on blistering 
asphalt, the scent streams into 
the nostrils--hot, grassy smell of 
summer, freshly cut-smoky 
cedar lingers on the air 

Fresh popcorn drenched in 
butter, I sit in the dark, musty 
movie house. Childhood 
memories of Tom Mix dashing 
across the screen 

A breath, deep of rain-damp wool, 
heady peat of whiskey 
neat. Old butt-imprinted leather 
and the dusty, pulpy smell of a 
well thumbed book as the page 
is turned 

 
The mule drawn plow turns the 
rich, boggy earth beneath an 
autumn sky. With luck and some 
rain the larder is full at harvest 
time 

Wrapped in strong arms, nose 
pressed to warm skin smelling of 
soap and outdoors. Drinking the 
heat in with the smell of the 
man, your man 

Sweet puppy breath. Pure 
doggy conviction that you will 
love him as much as he loves 
you 

 
Candles and incense in the 
great cathedral… the heart fills 
with faith, hope, and 
expectation 

Soft curls, sweet skin, the babe 
squirms closer… powdery 
newness, innocence, and trust

Briny, sharp tang of the northern 
sea. Balmy, yielding, essence 
under the Southern Cross 

Green aftertaste, fishy decay 
and salty fresh scent of the 
clean-swept beach 
 
Sultry air twines itself through the 
Quarter, crushed sugar, wet 
pavement, yeasty bouquet of 
hot beignet. Warm beer, 
praline sweet, heady grape 

Old river water slugs along 

Stifling, coppery smell of blood 
be it the battle field, hospital, 
crime scene, butcher shop, or 

birthing room… 
Cloys In the nostrils sticks in the 
back of the throat like old 
mucus 

 
Icy sweetness of winter air, 
frigid sting of snow to come… 
sharp pine tantalizes the senses, 
as harsh breath smokes the air 


Steaming manure in fresh straw, 
roasted peanuts, pink spun 
sugary sweet… 
the pungent animals stalk the 
cage. Sawdust under old 
canvas glows like old gold in a 
shaft of sun light. 
The Big Top! 
Childhood rushes back 


The smell of her on your 
mustache… you don’t want to 
wash your face… lose the 
heady scent of her love 

 
New trees struggle to rise above 
a sea of old petroleum. 
Pine sol lies still on the cold tiles, 
stale baloney on old bread. 
Rancid tired clothes reek of 
cheap cologne
The truck belches halitosis 

Move on down the highway 


Sharp fall gusts through the 
quaking aspen, 
pitchy sap barks in the 
crackling fire, 
snowy air assaults the senses 

The loon sings, warming the 
heart. 

Trisha Sugarek
Butterflies and Bullets


Long poem by Dawn Drickman | Details |

The Pirate and the Princess

Alas morning has come, 
the treacherous storm has passed
Anticipation heightens my senses as the wind swirls past, 
The essence of musk engulfs me;
Replacing the aroma of sea salt that once filled the misty air
I am assured that my beloved pirate is homeward bound

Perched upon my lighted tower
I gaze out across the horizon, waiting, hoping 
For that first glimpse of the storm tattered sails 
That adorn the vessel that had denied me that which makes me whole

Although the competition that vies for the heart of the Pirate may be grandiose,
There can be only one victor!

I cachinnate at your feeble attempt
To match wits with my poetic prose
Step aside Oh witch of the sea
And wipe the gull crap from your nose

Tis my beauty and grace that will prevail
I am the picture in his mind
You are just a barnacle
Hideous and unrefined

I pity you and your reckless dreams
Of captivating the Pirates heart
For no wretched wench of the sea
Could ever keep us apart

A Pirate does not long for
Raunchy harlots dressed in rags
Courtesans with damaged goods
Or withered old sea hags

Nor is it a rotund woman 
Paunchy and robust
That titillates his senses 
Filling his loin with lust

It is I dressed in fine linen
Pink orchids in my hair
The scent of passion I emanate
Will be more than he can bear

So step aside young peasant girls
Watch and whimper in despair
As he chooses the lovely Princess
Both voluptuous and fair

Your songs are inchoate and crude
Like the Sirens fatal call
I sing my celestial serenade
Your harm it will forestall

(Song of the Princess)

For I am your ardent Mariner
Manning the beacon that lights your way
Pacing the gallery day and night
From my post I will not stray

Time has yet to diminish
The taste you left behind
That gentle kiss that bid farewell
Remains within my mind

The vacuity induced by your absence
Has been replaced with a burning desire
To settle myself upon your manly hood
And extinguish the sensual fire 

I touch my fingers to my lips
Then place them at my heart
A tear descends down my cheek
Creating the waters that keep us apart

In desperation I call to Poseidon
Great God of the sea
Hear my prayers, feel my pain
Bring my pirate back to me 

Please hurry home sweet Captain 
Oh pirate of the sea
Hurry home to the one you love
Well all know that ‘s me!

To all the strumpets that compete
It's time that we retrench
Save your hearts and walk away
He’ll chose the Princess not the wench


Long poem by Dave Collins | Details |

Interalphabetnet sex stew



Primose path leads to the slaughter of American
dream delete pause proficiency with internetty
webbegone after thoughts of yahoo googleyed 
interred intracacises that shed benign capsules of
 mom entary apple pie delquiences cooling 
the soul shopping for the next alias avenue of
pointless me procurement mauling an ongoing
onerous dildodate vis a vie meme.com/me in 
an engaging omnipresence of sextext no tact
spell ckeck chicshicshakplak no sense tic tac.
Talk? Walk? Balk? Chalk? Sue? Sulk? 
Dinosaur diligence posse with the senior
gestages gestulating, we r forevre 21 and ying yang 
dung. Yes, good f ing luck with that!! Look at your 
petridish parents and see what box u check to lid close
and abscond with the lost liberal leftovers. That
is you in reverse in a few carnal years after Hilter youth
children decide to screw us as the new 
generation which skewer post present parental postulates 
to the oldster outhouse outlets so u can be "youf" free. Little
do they notknow as they cumulatively co opulate 
that they set the stooge stage for no thanx ahole actions. 
The DOS does'nt fall from the Apple tree. Leave it, 
love it, learn it while ye may, the kid crisp cosmos of
offspring social dicktates are biting at your heartbeatbit 
empty elmo enterprises. Pause parenatal prenatal
preferences prepearing perinatal persons pretasking
postnatal practices, in which you have veno papa preparation.
Think before you For Unlawful Carnal Knowledge and Analyze
your ass-incarnate initiate. Borrow berofe u basterdize, 
condomize before u copu culminate, decide before
u dicktate, envision before u envy, fail before u foil, 
grasp before u germinate, halt before u hinder, 
illuminate before u illerate, jump before u jinx, 
kill before u keep, love before u lay, meaning before
moaning, neutralize before u now, obilerate before
u ooops! presence before predicament, quit before
quake, resilience before ridiculous, sanity before
sexusensuality, thinkth before u thumpth, utilize
before u unionize, victory before victimization, we 
before want, xx nor xy, zen before zeal. Pocket 
passion files fly in the face of ruined reason residules
to the point of pronounced perplextion plagued 
prominantly with no recall references to problematic 
protocals for near north normalicies in my buckeye
life measures of simpatico silly symbiosis sublime
of mini me monophile mucous made misdemeanor
milktoast memories. Pass go, collect $200.



Long poem by Brice Powers | Details |

The Walk

It was a long walk, with time heeling at my shadow. 
(and somewhere miles away the garage door closed, and the exhaust flowed,
and a small dog died in her limp arms)
I was friendly with God. Only with small trepidation did I drink from the sordid 
chalice, minutes before, and decided that a walk, skip and a jump to nowhere is what I
needed the most. And so it was.

Block after block, stones in the pavement, the smell of creosote poles.
Delicate foil wrappers, industrial petals, She loves me not, she loves....
Sidetrack with backpack, it doesn't matter. I don't care. 
I'll be there when I damn well find myself somewhere. Which is where 
the trees grow bright, and the birds flit without flapping.
And the water forms misty and bejeweled, laying my mind out flat
like steam would fine linen. then I will sit and breath with an "e". You bet.

But first a small lap in a languid pool of solace, a tip toe through the forest afire with
colors borrowed from alien hands, a taste of spring time cum. Let me wallow.
God, friend, let me wallow in your mess of beauty, before I call it something.
Let me roll around like a goddamn dog. I want to itch and draw forth honey from my veins.
I want to suck sap bleeding from the tree, and dine on the lost sound of the whippoorwill. 
God, let me die a small death of beauty, and be reborn in an orgasm of **** all get out!
No qualms. Buddy. I love your work. It looks like you ****ed yourself a good one. 
And what came was all this edible goodness. Like Dali, I want to eat it. All. 

Now, like I promised you, I'll give back. I'll play your hypnotic song 
and sing to your soiled minions. I'll take heed in your loving whispers 
and open up my heart for your midnight snack. I'll clean up your moonspill
and read to you that silly book of yours, the one about the golden rule
and those twelve dudes. (Sorry God, not my cup of tea). 
Draw a bath for your daughters, and draw back the bow for your sons, and ready the bed for Venus.
Sit back and relax, ol buddy, I'll do the best that I can
then I'll grow tired 
and fertilize
your garden.

Oh. Now I can breathe. The song has left my lips for now.
I walked myself into a lovely stupor, and you showed me
the rainbow. And I raised your worms.
I played your song, God.
(I hope that somehow, she heard it over the din of engine and whimper of dog)
I played that timeless song, or you played me.
Either way, it's still the day
that the trees grew bright with sun
and the birds flew without flapping.


Long poem by Wendy Meyer | Details |

IF ONLY I COULD CATCH THE SUN, ever so softly


I try to ignore the squirming Hyde within 
And, with effort still,
I raise myself for the last traces 
of sunshine and fun.
What was left of the day, I savor for me. 
As the withering leaves of silence
have perfected the petals of stillness,
A quietude.
Such absence of sound
Never a serenity to the mind.
Disturbing solitude haunts.
Loneliness seems vivid as reality speaks 
Even the poignant sadness never parts
Solitary confinement paints an art.

Like the spectator in a thousand theatre plays,
 I achingly wait for the final curtains to part.
Then, as always expected -  
Left were the 
    dancing curtains 
       together with the late sunset wind. 
Tiny golden flecks 
   imprinting on the soft white 
        laces and trims.
Catching shadow images 
    of the last rays of brilliance, 
         blending slowly in yellow embers,
              forming orange coals, 
                   turning into sunkissed glow 
                         of a sad goodbye. 
Then,
    ever so softly fading
           into dullness and cloudless cold. 


And as the night falls, 
its shadowy self dances 
against the moonlit music of silence.
I listen and search still 
   for what is left. 
No traces of the sun 
whose magnificence and radiance 
had touched the leaves of laughter 
during my daytime slumbering; children frolicking, 
    early had the mind sensing. 
And, gone astray were the seeds of kindness 
    the day had grown.
It seemed they were sown 
    by someone I wish I had known. 


If only I could frolic 
    where little lads had been early today - 
        in the meadows, 
           by the pond, 
              along the shores, 
                  around friendly trees and smiling flowers, 
                       with the meadowlarks and chirpy games, 
                               I’d give away anything.
Basking in the sun on such a lemony day, 
someone sulks to find it's an emotional burn. 


If only I could catch the loveliness of the sun, 
I'd give away anything. 
ANYTHING. 
Just for something this grand. 


The mind wills but the heart groans. 
A moment of joy and laughter, so fleeting.
Forgot me, gave away the troubles. 
Today could be A DAY,
If only, ever so softly,  I could catch the sun.



Long poem by Maurice Yvonne | Details |

CAUTION SOMEWHAT SEXUAL

It's one a.m., he decides it's time go to the club.
He is wearing a pair of tight jeans and a white T-shirt 
tattooed to his torso. A lit cigarette in his mouth seems glued 
to the top of his lip. He walks to his own paint brush.

He takes in a deep breath. He can taste all the desire
in the filthy night air. Hear the screams of months past. 
He can even hear the friction of dancing flesh.

He has reached the Black Hole that is his Universe. 
Lynette shoves him against a brick wall. Hard! 
She puts her tongue down his throat and licks his lungs.
He smells her scent. They don't advertise the entrance. 
It's very dark just outside the club. Yet he still knows now.

It's not Lynette. He is sure he has never met this woman. 

He knows it's wrong but he doesn't stop.
He is not going to do anything to stop this. 
She owns him as she pulls him into the alley.

He lets her take him. He spends the next while
swimming in a pool of pornographic imagery.

She takes control and takes him on the adult ride at the fairway.
Lucky! He is just tall enough to get on.

He leaves to float above and watch himself with her. 
Raw flesh! He stares, they are both there but he only sees her.
Everything she is races through his mind.

He looks at himself. His face is blank. 
She treats him to uncharted territory 
as she massages something deep inside of him.

He floats back to be whole, to hold her, and ride her. 
Driving hard, fast and mean working the ride to its climax.

The brakes screech and they go catatonic in perfect sync. 
Neither one of them makes a sound. They stand there motionless,
grasping for air. Holding the moment. 
For a second, for a minute, for a lifetime.

They kiss.
For a second...

She holds him gently.
They look at one another.
for...,a minute...

Their eyes are adjusted to the dark now. 
She maps every inch of his face with one finger.
Tongues touch, lips lock and they just hold
...for a lifetime.

And even before she leaves. He knows she's gone.
He can't remember another time when doing wrong felt so right.

Calmly he lights a cigarette, and he walks down the stairs.
He looks around as his body vibrates to the movement of the music.

There she is waiting for him on the floor. 
His hips are loose and his legs start to lead 
as he takes her in his arms and dances

It's Lynette and him

...for a second, for a minute, for a lifetime.


Maurice Yvonne
September 1 2014


Long poem by Warner Baxter | Details |

Destiny or Dream

As I turn to see a dark silhouette, I realize it is you. Your sultry form is illuminated by the moonlight glowing through the window shrouded by tightly drawn curtains. 
I become instantly aroused. Your silken gown clings to your shapely body, like hot liquid gold dripping into paddles beneath your bare feet. I approach, slowly, step by step. Anticipation is heightened. I reach out and take the thin straps of your gown with a single finger. First the left, then the right, I hold the straps outward, with eyes fixed, staring deep into one an others souls, I let go. Your crimson clothing falls to the floor. You are covered only by your long beautiful hair cascading over the curves of your naked body. I take your bare slender shoulders with both hands. 
You feel my strength, but you are not afraid. You feel powerless as a warm sense of comfort fills the very essence of your being. With eyes still fixed, we move even closer, so close I can feel your breath on my mouth. Your tongue sweeps across my lip and then as sudden as a star falls from the sky, our lips meet with the power and the passion of the Genesis of Earth. My hands have moved to the small of your back pressing our bodies firmly together. I kiss the side of your neck, you gasp! As you chase after your breath, I take the lobe of your ear between my teeth and bite very gently - your body trembles. I pick you up and carry you across the room. 
You seem to be floating, I lay you down on the bed, a peaceful smile envelopes your face, as you would see on a child when they feel raindrops for the first time. 
My clothes have mysteriously disappeared. I lay down next to you, then in symphony we explore each other's bodies completely. We make love over and over again. The pleasure is overwhelming. You scream in ecstasy, your fingernails pierce the skin on my back as you grip and grasp, twist and writhe and squeeze me tighter and tighter. You scream again, and again. You have never felt like this before. 
Our bodies kinetically charged to the power of a freight train speeding out of control. We have become moist to the point of drenched with our hot sweet sweat. We collapse completely in each other's arms with exhaustion in total surrender. 
We awaken at first light, still in lucid embrace, and say "good morning, I love you." It is at this very instance we both understand our lives have meaning and enlightenment. We are under the power of love. Is it a dream? or is it destiny.


Long Poems