Long Sexy Poems
Long Sexy Poems. Below are the most popular long Sexy by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Sexy poems by poem length and keyword.
I searched endlessly for my dream.
Impossible to find is what it seemed.
Hoping one day I would find the light.
That light came to me when you came in sight.
I felt something special about you, and I was right.
When I met you and got to know you
I was done searching, because I found my dream in you.
My dream wasn't about fortune or fame.
I had love in me, and I sought a woman who felt the same.
I made a list of everything I wanted in a woman.
I ended up drawing a picture of you.
Time passed, and our feelings for each other grew.
Grew so much that I got to that point where I finally knew
that I loved you.
'Tis not long, but the very next day,
away from us stealing what moments we may;
yet I already feel the ghost of your lips
upon my waiting neck, on each of their many trips.
A visit to a favorite friend with no strings,
become a stage for the joy that flesh brings;
at once long-awaited and a wondrous surprise,
to hear your delighted cries and contented sighs.
A hand on mine, the other trailing soft fingers,
you left a tingling on my back that yet lingers;
a bite here, a scratch there, a kiss elsewhere,
and I was freely lost in desire's tight snare.
We varied between laughing at each other's jests,
and gasping at each other's sensual, deft quests;
my blood rises as I write, recalling your caress,
your amative gaze as we felt each other effloresce.
A more enrapt and passionate amour I cannot remember,
and I daresay I long to once again tend this ember;
soon I would replace this echo of your taste
with my grip once again adorning your waist.
One thundering Thursday, in a thicket of trees I had thought I had thunk a real thought.
I was thinking deeply, when alas, creepily, a thought appeared, jeering at the tip of my tongue.
It said “At once you thought you’d thunk a thought, but alas, you’ll see, a thought has thunk you.”
“And now not the faintest idea, nor the ficklest of feeling should find your fopdoodle brain.”
I said to myself “how dare he! A thought should ever be thought, if ever a thought could be thunk, shall a man whom strained to purpose his processor be graced not but by a single thought?
Nay, he shant.
So, I destined to discover this thought that tittered at the tip of my tongue, though I realized forthwith, I haven’t the clumsiest clue as to how one might think a thought that ought not be thunk.
So, I sat and I thunk, and I thunk and I sat, hoping a thought would hitherto appear.
When alas, the truth! it came to me! To identify the idea, I first ought inspect it’s initial conception. Then out it would pop from mine own minds eye, and have it I would. And a thoughtless, schemeless, mindless oaf, ne’er again shalt I be.
So, I huffed and I puffed, snorted and wiffled, pondering at the peak of my strength. I reckoned, conceived, reminisced, and conflated. With all of my might I conflabulated.
But regrettably out came not but a poof of air. And this air did flow henceforth from my rump and I thunk amidst all this hard thinking, it’s clear that I stunk.
And off flew the thought, giggling and taunting, laughing, and flaunting until he was gone. Ne’er again did I think up the thought that escaped. And I wept in my stench of my stinking attempt of thinking a thought that ne’er be thunk.
I will name you the beast, she told him, in a loving way.
He was enthralled, no one had ever claimed him this way.
He watched her walk around the room, swishing her whip.
She cracked it loudly, he tried not to flinch. I am your master.
A combination of fear and delight entered his soul.
He could feel it traveling up his loins. He sat back and admired her.
He had never been owned before; he decided he might like it.
Put this on, she said, handing him a lion mask with a full mane.
He stared at the tiny beauty, wondering what she was going to do.
Her lips turned up in an all-knowing style; she was sensual, this one.
You are not to ask questions, she told him, just put on the costume.
When his mother had set him up with a librarian, he never expected this!
I have peace tonight.
My world is complete.
The great panes of glass
Are frosty with snow
As it silently falls outside.
The night provides a
Perfect crispy black backdrop.
Inside the fire crackles and
Sings it's song.
The orange and red glow
Lights the room
Softly enough to cast shadows
That dance off the wooden walls.
The hot cocoa steams in mugs
On the table,
Releasing a sweet aroma
That reminds me of childhood
Giggles over marshmallows
And chocolate chips.
The true beauty in the room though,
Is you.
Sexy in flannel pajama bottoms.
Broad shoulders stretch a jersey shirt.
Hemingway, of course, in your lap.
When you notice my admiring eyes
A smile forms on perfect lips.
A twinkle in those darling eyes.
For myself it's McCammon.
My toes wiggle under your thighs
To let you know I see that smile,
That knowing look in those eyes.
Alas, our evening is still young.
We haven't enjoyed our cocoa,
Finished reading yet.
And there is more
Winter snow yet to fall.
Her soul, a fusion divine,
Music intertwine
Where Something meets stormy seas,
And Eleanor Rigby finds her sweet release.
She sings the Ballad of John and Yoko's strife,
While Howlin' Wolf's ghost haunts the night,
Her voice a whiskey-soaked lullaby,
A bridge between love and midnight's cry.
For in her, the Beatles and the blues collide
A symphony of joy and sorrow intertwined
A troubadour of music's timeless muse,
Where every note tells a tale, both old and new."
In the rhythm of Abbey Road's stride,
And the Delta's slow, soulful glide,
She dances through Strawberry Fields,
Where heartache heals and passion yields.
She strums melodies from Yesterday,
Her laughter bright as a Yellow Submarine,
A kaleidoscope of Sexy Sadie’s sway.
In the echo of her Lucy in the Sky eyes,
I found Sgt. Pepper's whimsy and rhyme,
Across the universe, her love me do,
In every twist and turn of Abbey Road's time.
She dances through Strawberry Fields,
Where heartache heals and passion yields.
For in a magical mystery tour so sweet,
Where love is all you need, complete.
She’s a twist and shout of pure delight,
In Penny Lane's sunlit glow
Where memories gently flow.
Barbers' tales and banker's stride,
Echoes of a city's pride.
Firemen rush with gallant grace,
In their station's steadfast place,
Children laugh and buses hum,
Underneath the Liverpool sun.
Here, where time spins its reel,
Past and present softly kneel,
In Penny Lane's eternal sway
Lives entwined in melodies play.
Every corner, every lane
Whispers stories, love and pain,
In this tapestry of dreams,
Where Polythene Pam forever gleams.
Nostalgia, memory, and passage of time
And Hey Jude is my only solitude.
obtuse behavior, undeserving of mention
she was rather obtuse and wrong
rather mean and loud
she spoke real loud and said little
" damn you sir" she said" damn you!"
most boo'd her as she walked the stage singing
the song" didgo(AND GONE)" and " causing trouble"
"Badgirl Stigma, Rocks!" screamed a painted face Heathen
in barely nothing, she took his flowers and called him
a "boop face", this review of music by Tickles
speaks of the lack of morals in our music,
and lesser appreciation for sheetmusic and classical collaberations.
" they smashed eggs over the gayguys head,
and poured milk on the gaywomans chest, this is obtuse
and ridulous!
the music observer!
2017, Music by Heathens; song's by lovers, written by F. Sinew from Best beats and Dicethrowers-Doo Music!, Produced by "Clean-up Nanny" and the Hussy-next-door, Music City Tenn. and Upper Malbaro MD." paint the wall" used with [permission from Bach-Band and review, Sewy Music-patches" stiched-up dreams" 2017 New,York Musictour! ("Sexy Lady" performed by Bridges upon Waters) riffs from ther guitarshow! "Way Cool Dude: Way Cool !
She rose and pretended he wasn't looking.
He looked over her black leather pants fascinating.
Sprinkles, whispers, shimmer like a second skin that was Ann.
White satin blouse that was open and shear to reveal a sexy golden tan,
blonde hair hung down the middle of her back in thick loose waves.
His gaze lingered on her; she’d even make a burlap sack look sexy in a dark cave.
Withered with need to etch on his mind,
drank in the sight of her glorious body
helped to ease the hunger gnawing with in him.
Breathtaking beauty finally walked toward him.
Twirled around taking two steps and draw,
she leaned forward tracing a finger along his jaw,
shrugged nonchalantly and said, “I picked a winner.
Sweetheart, it’s time to go home and relieve the babysitter."
3/26/2018
.
secretly
surrender'in
scantly shod (sylph's suggestive)
sun screen'd she
sweat soak'd she
screech'd
sizzling
soundz
synopsis'n
such sweet seks
surely slights
surreal
so
stoic
")
A time for many a part-time passion, like
the discarded skin of Esprit jeans and low-hip waistline
baring pierced navel with flavor of a chase on the run…
would he dare confess real love as the world tolled
for Lady Diana and Charles?
You with me… moon to sun, fire to burn our eyes…
I swing on an illusion and steal the time away,
rustling along a Mustang’s back seat, while
some 8-CD tract pleads, "Do you think I’m sexy,’’
dipping in steams of instant affection.
How deep-cheeked your thrills
like Indiana Jones , knocking me
off-balance: and I, a fool ignoring the pain
that you may never Stand By Me,
never in blinks of thousand stars,
a recycled tune melting in the sand
now you’re just ozone’s hole...
I wrap the scenes along Route 25,
as bittersweet time passes by. Alone.
Kelly Deschler's Decades Contest
``Do You Think I'm Sexy
and Stand By Me-- top 80s songs