Long Lust Poems
Long Lust Poems. Below are the most popular long Lust by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Lust poems by poem length and keyword.
“The fusion of her lips with his took him
to the edge of the stilled time,
across the silent waves of euphoria.” – By Poet
The pristine patina of the unfurled rose
glistened like garnet on your lilac lips,
mingled with mine they seemed like the melody
of the shimmering dew at sunrise,
resonating in the flushing meadow
of my heart pulsating with longing
that rolled the waves of euphoria
from the receding shore of the ecstatic time.
Floating entranced on the fragrant air of your allure
I devoured the flavor of lust
from the luscious contours of your yearning lips.
Your crimson enticement stoked up
my flaming desire, turning my craving
into gleaming ember of fervent love.
In its afterglow fused with the hues of the setting sun
I still feel the sensual pleasure of the silent kiss.
So small in stature
Sitting at the table of empty
"If I can catch her in attitude
I'll make her eat every penny"
Beat, beat, beat, beat her down
Never let her shine
"I am my beloved's
And He is mine"
...His banner over me is LOVE
Take her possessions
Take her house
"I'll take her position
And kick her out"
Blind, halt, naked
Ashamed and afraid
"I'll prove her a liar
A product of what LOVE has made"
...Isolation...Framed...Glory~Mamed
Running in the wilderness
A pack of wolves in pursuit
"I'll take her hope
So she'll know LOVE collects loot"
She's at the edge
We can't let her escape
"I will give her deception
Waiting at the Pearly gate"
...Nakedness is out of season
........all your suffering has no reason
"I will answer you
With a mighty sword
I see you clearly through the fire
You lust after the fuel
Of my WORD
That blasts forth LOVE's desire
...........to choose
My nakedness scares
Your insecurity
My love, in spite of pain
Maims your assurity
...in program
When you sit
At the Table of Plenty
Rest in the TRUTH
You are empty
ONLY LOVE IS FULL
...........and receives alllllllll GLORY"
Written by Trudy Schrader on 09-18-2023
she speak to lovers
all of whom she admires and adores
they whisper their wants to one another
like prayers to a god
a god that listens and understands them
they speak to voices
only to hear chants
they ask for monetary currencies
that they might exist beyond the scope of their being
who's voice shall answer mine
might i be lucky enough to be heard
that these ways make it easier to live
and love
between those who like living this way
yet god if you hear me
might you listen
that i might have possession of the flower amiss the garden
that it's beauty is valued high among men
and that possession of this flower
will make other to perceive me as successful
that a king among kings
only are to war
but a king to his queen
might he be loved
that the words of men are to be heard by the god
who shall grant love to them
that others might contest these lovers
might i have the flower
might i have the flower
might i have flower to possess as my own
that the woman might be adorn as much as
the world adorns the blooming bloossoms
amiss your fields and gardens
might i possess this beautiful ornament as my own
It is TRUE!
Very true indeed, my dear.
People like us,
yes, we are few, but it is no lie.
People like us,
don't belong anywhere.
We have no origins or beginnings,
an alien to all.
No home for us,
welcomed by any or none.
Always alone,
always wandering.
Some of us wander in search of a "home",
some of us, however, already know,
we have no home, but we still do wander.
Those of us who already know, we are alone,
there is no place for us,
we go from place to place,
hoping to find a face.
A kind face, just for a feeling,
a feeling of ease,
a feeling of comfort that maybe this could be a home.
Oh how sad when these faces fade,
when these feelings go and are no more than a memory.
Memory they are, it's time to find a new place.
People like us my dear,
will always be the strange, the unfamiliar, and the alone.
but why why can't we be alone together?
are we this different with so much in common...
oh yes, there is a home for you while i soberly wander.
Form:
The scent of a party is anxiety mingled with eyeliner -
eyes that look with fingers crossed for some nonchalant
chatter to develop over ice. It floats around long after
your French exit, caught in cushion and lingering in lace - the
dress you bought to impress someone you’d not yet met.
The memory of a party hovers like cigarette fumes, wafting
through fingers clutching helplessly at a past unattainable;
an invisibly present forever stuck to the lips of a teenage
ex-smoker. At midnight, a party’s smell is a handshake musk
curled beside lust, morphing into crushed crisps on carpets,
burnt toast and leather-brown tea by morning. A cure for
a hangover. The odour of it hangs around in shamed text
messages and profile updates, the flashbulb of ironic sepia
photographs printed. Its aroma stays, long after you’ve gone.
Butterflies of quavers and trebles and clefs,
Flutter all over her breast,
Creating a gentle, melodious hum,
Whenever she’s completely undressed,
Filling the room with a shade of her soul,
Becoming a beautiful dance,
A dance that sways and floats and wafts,
Seducing me in a love trance,
As her finger nails shine, painted in black,
Wash her lips in dark red,
And the words to her music talk to my heart,
Pulling me onto her bed,
Where we continue to tango in a Latin of lust,
Dancing every single desire,
Throughout the dark night, in a passion of love,
Our passionate love burning fire.
there is a brothel there down the street,
built like a palace three stories high,
hear anklets jingle on dancing feet,
with singing and drums as you pass by.
I have chanced within once as a youth,
to savour pleasures of sinful flesh,
in wine and smoke did not see the truth,
the tormented souls trapped in evil mesh.
pretty they who were plying their trade,
vibrant bodies in their early teens,
stained glass windows, moroccan lamp shades
a sale of bodies for living means!
men of wealth leaning on cushioned seats,
aged lustful men aim for a score,
clapping and rejoicing with the beats,
toss money up asking for encore!
men of high repute frequented the halls,
those who spoke morals and values too,
even priests, scholars bought at these stalls,
of suffering they caused, had no clue!
girls were from different parts of state,
some sold through poverty by their own,
some stolen from home or lost to fate,
some orphaned young, some reasons unknown!
here was a trade all chose to ignore,
law makers, elite just let it go,
each year the numbers grew even more,
bodies sold, though their young hearts cried ‘No’!
religion morals preached everywhere,
man’s hypocrisy in full display,
parents showed their own children love, care,
suffering of these girls none would say!
late one autumn I stopped to enquire,
found doors locked, no lights, no sound, no sway,
said one “come morrow, if you desire,
Brothel is closed for Gandhi’s birthday!
4th placement in Premium contest
written 13/02/2021
They closed the brothel contest
Kai Michael Neumann Sponsored
9 syllables each line
7 stanzas!
abab.... rhyme
SENSUALITY
Swimming and sinking in seductive shyness of sweetheart
Evoking exciting emotion ending in explosion to enjoy.
Natural attraction insisting nearness allowing no gap.
Sweet romance to rush, crash, collide on your dulcet dreams.
Urge for our unison surging in opulence
Ardent Amour in glamour on armor of piercing passion
Love to flow in lust and lure exploring lucrative lovely moments.
Inevitable sensual ecstasy cascading with fervid effervescence .
Thirst of drinking desire twinkling on your tender touch.
Yearning for your cozy closeness on pressing lips.
06/27/20
Second Place
'Sensuality' Contest by Silent One.
‘Immediate arrival inevitable’ - is the message of emergency he receives from his ‘oak-leaf-worn’ military major whose command an Indian soldier can never imagine reacting or refusing. Crimson-clad, nose-ringed, bangles-jingling, now-wed wife resembling an immaculate-milk-flowing-full-moon; no honey-moon and veil not fully removed yet; not completely contented with looking at each other and drinking from their desire-brim-filling-gestures; love-full, lust-full, feeling for each other’s presence full; tears fill her eyes; he has his hidden pains; leaves for his destiny. She…?
Covered black coffin
national flag, dirge, gun-sounds
a puzzled raven
Lonely and dull was the path
Seeing the way, none could laugh
Disease hung in the air
Life seemed to go nowhere
Of what use would be living
If maimed, none would dare to be boasting
Desperate was the current flow
When hope sparked us all in one go
Dust flew in from the skies
Dust came in without any ties
Angels cried at our plight
Saddened at our darkened sight
So they gave us a boon,
Stardust, sparkling, in the heat of noon
Silvery, shiny, deep with hue
Lyrical, magical, it seemed not true
Those who did inhale the dust
Could do nothing except to let go of their lust
Life is meant to be lived
Life is meant not to be re-lived!
So, come, let us sing and dance
To the name of faith, in all abundance!
15 October 2012
Anoucheka Gangabissoon