Long Steamy Poems
Long Steamy Poems. Below are the most popular long Steamy by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Steamy poems by poem length and keyword.
Mornin coffee thinkin of you!
Simmers thoughts of a wonderful brew,
as dreams of romance percolate into view!
Such an awesome aroma I sense,
if we were to become more intense!
How's about a warm slow roast,
somethin that you'll like the most!
And if you want to make it nice'n hot,
know Im gonna like you a lot!
Here's some sugar for your cup dear,
with visions of holding you near!
Cafe au' lait is a tasty treat,
but bet your the one thats really sweet!
What a rich blend we've found,
and I look forward to stickin around!
Guess I better get a bigger pot,
well considerin all the luv you got!
Starbucks gives you lots of frothy foam,
you know I cant wait to get you all alone!
Wishin you have a bottomless mug,
so I can give ya lotsa hugs!
Hey care for some Arab-bic-ka,
you wont mind if I grab-at-ya!
Gettin dizzy the smells so heavenly robust,
why honey you might like if I just go for bust!
Want to wait for a traditional slow drip,
and get better acquainted with your upper 'n lower lip!
Expresso has a very strong flavor,
but girl it's you I really want to savor!
Fix'in yours up all real creamy,
and gettin it nice and steamy!
Oh so sweet and yummy,
brings a taste of joy to my tummy!
Shots of Kahluha makes a good intoxicating mix,
and I would crave to give you a nice fix!
Yep just hoping that you'll spike my cup,
and really stiffin things up!
Darlin for you I'm makin it strong,
so maybe I can kiss ya all night long!
And anytime your ready to take a drink,
deep within your arms I long to sink!
Be glad to fix ya a mocha delite,
and still be kiss'in ya come early daylight!
Next there comes a double shot latte,
your turn to show me how your so risque!
Carefully made you'll never find any course grounds,
your tearin me up with all them sweet moanin sounds!
Just ask me to prepare yours with a french press,
and surely you wont last long in that lil mini dress!
Amazing what happens when you roast a little bean,
lacey silk stockings tempt where to get in between!
Just hollar whenever you want a cappuccino,
now what about that juicy maraschino!
Ahhh the heated scent is so incredibly aromatic,
why honey never knew your so kinky 'n acrobatic!
So whenever you ponder for your cup,
k-n-o-w that I'd like to just fill you right up!
Mmmm talkin bout good to the last drop,
whoa babe I'm about ready to pop!
Thinkin you might go for a really fine grind,
I'm about ready to lose my mind!
Have you ever met those kind of blokes who get upon your nerve,
when they quote continual references that most think should deserve
a threatening confrontation that if they make that quote again,
then the punishment that’s handed out will give them heaps of pain.
A gang of us were working down along the Main Drain stream,
clearing blackberries and willows on a governmental scheme,
and as usual on a Monday morn, weekend glitches are highlighted,
that are full of doom and gloom, and mostly are ‘beer blighted.’
For Clancy, Joe and me, we sort of blessed the doom and gloom,
as it transgressed into humour, and so there wasn’t any room,
for the likes of workmate Charlie who only saw a brighter side,
when there wasn’t any bright side; just a great gloomy divide.
Charlie is the eternal optimist with no matter what is said
in the ghastliest of circumstance even if someone was dead,
and Charlie only had one quote that we’re sure he did rehearse,
and so we heard it every time ‘It could have been much worse.’
So after work one evening in the pub we had some beers,
with ‘it could have been much worse,’ still ringing loudly in our ears,
and with Charlie being absent we devised a cunning plan,
to rid him of that bloody quote and then praying that we can.
We thought that as a perfect subject we would use our good mate Ted,
in a steamy sordid untrue yarn to get inside of Charlie’s head,
and have him shaking in his bootstraps, plus gulping in his throat,
to avoid us hearing one more time, his annoying bloody quote.
And so ‘it could have been much worse’ is about to get the chop,
as we cut and piled the prickly canes, of a large blackberry crop,
so when the time was ready, with Charlie well within ear shot,
Joe babbled out the sordid tale that was really ‘Tommyrot.’
“Did you hear about our old mate Ted, and what went on last night?
He caught his wife with Jimmy Hale, and there was a shocking fight;
he shot ‘em both and then himself!” But Charlie stayed quite calm but terse,
as he rolled a smoke and muttered out, “It could have been much worse.”
“Much worse!” We squawked as one... “How can it be worse than that?”
And the answer Charlie gave us… well it really knocked us flat,
after dragging on his cigarette, he sniffed and quietly said,
“If it had have been the night before, it’s me who would be dead.”
my arms wrapped around you
warm to the touch
only on thing on my mind
i love you so much
my hand connects with yours
my arms wrapped around yo
draw you in closer
soft and smooth to the touch
as we lay there
theres no moment in time that has meant so much
your body seems to mix with mine
quickly churning all the feelings i have inside
my hands caress your body
you stir, open you eyes with your sexy smile
sunlight streaks across your face
giving you that look of even higher grace
rubbing your back at such a slow pace
giving you time to recooperate
time to breathe
time to wake
i knew this was no mistake
all the feelings i feel are real
teasing me with a passion
all is said and done- for now
our love will never end
not now, nor then
later tonight
the same will occur
i'll walk through the door
being making dinner
take a shower
wait till you arrive
take your coat off your shoulders
take off the weight that feels like boulders
kiss you hello
you know, nice and slow?
reach for your hand
lead you to dinner
a meal of such delight
already thinking to yourself, "i'll sleep well tonight"
i wash the dishes
you take your shower
we'll meet in the bedroom
and kiss the night away
let me caress your body
tell me all about your day
slip out of your clothes
kiss you all over from head to toe
slide under the covers
bodies mixing
bending and twisting
let our acts of love bellow through the air
the night goes on
but alas
theres so much to be done
smooth and creamy
sweet and filling
our movements slow down
catching our breath
our hunger way beyond being met
you unwind
i pull you closer
deeper and deeper until slumber is met
sighing contently
i kiss your forhead
you stir and steal my thought
i love you
both steamy and hott
kissing you gently
saying it back
you close your eyes for the night
rocking you slowly back and forth
my love
my heart
my soul
no greater truth be told
i begin to drift away into sleep
our dog curling up on our bed by our feet
another day is done
another night well spent
but alas this is not the end
just the end of round one.
A Polite Warning. The Following poem is somewhat steamy. Not explicit, but explicit in
inference. If this sort of thing offends you, then please be considerate and don’t read
it. Thank you.
Naked Flamenco
( A sultry summer night spent together
With ardour between us growing
She whispered, “Let me dance for you”
I agreed, little knowing………………. )
Binding spells of mysterious wanting
Soft dark her eyes looked
Into the shades of my mind
An enchantress of fantasy
She etched her velvet pattern
On veiled secrets
Parted
Dangerous lashes flutter desirous
In emerald peacock pupils
Midnight burnished hair let fall
In captivating tangles
To full ephemeral corners
Of soft bitten lip
Coy damp line drawn on her cheek
Captivated
Her expression acknowledges
With known provoking smiles
Eye lights shine saying “already mine”
With twisting flamenco poised
Sensual arm insinuates to finger tip
And eventide's rose is pale skinned
And naked
Curved line from ankle
Writes portents to the nape of her neck
Through black tousled sexual spinal blades
Shoulder dipping
Quivers her femininity to rising breasts
While arched longing
Mouths the indescribable tactile seconds
Of her promontory dancing
Patient in toe tip exquisite she places
Penchant elegance
Of her naked ballet
The ribbon swirl of vanished gossamer dress
Depicted wing-ed arms
She rises a surrealistic
Flight of angels created
In soft light air brushed forms
Of muscle, rib cage, bones and tendons
Body writhed centres eclipse
On pubic between
The epitome of gestalts navel breathing
I shudder Goosebumps of enthralling
Built by such grace of a heavenly
Consecrated female
Led beyond mere heated needing
To a place resplendent
With sheer un-tameable and un-nameable beauty
Guitar stringing twangs the milliseconds
Of her overture
Spanish castanets tap click fervent
Pronouncing the rhythm of my heart
Naked pale formed Goddess
Gently rips from me
Every appreciations confession of
Perfections contours
Fine satin sheen hairs risen
Beading sweats slight trickle
Aroused by my infatuation
Nipples stiffen
And I am drawn from and by
Heavy breath to music’s ending
To land in her presence
Panting
She has seen through me
Every century of a woman’s glory
And with a slow beckoning finger
Her eager eyes
Tell me
It is so
The Coming…
(Mood Variations…)
The long hot summer yields to the arrival
of the cooling fall.
Despite the coming treat to survival
towering trees proudly stand firm and tall.
Sticky, sweaty, steamy nights
have now all gone;
giving way to the cool ebony breeze.
Horny frogs and crickets
no longer sing their eerie song;
squirrels organize
their cupboards in the trees;
and ivory towers grow on
graves of fall’s fallen leaves.
In the early evenings’ misty wine
sun of change set the close of day,
leaving hued shadows to sway
on the footprints of changing time.
The angels of the sky have flown far away;
leaving a strange peace to seek out another day
to find sanctuary in caverns of hope.
Seasoned lives prepare for what winter nature will send their way;
as echoes of rain mock the variations like a cruel joke.
Strange how nature’s circadian rhythms
bring about change: yet the more things change,
the more they stay in the same range.
No one saw the ambiguity of the coming strange schis
Dawn seemed to have struggled this morning---
Returning from her nocturnal journey,
She slowly stretched, yawned, and arose
To the appointed occasion
Sending dim, golden rays piercing through
Shades of lazy grey clouds
The whistling wind wails, whooshing through the trees
And winding around corners
Bring awakening alarms that hands cannot stop
Nor ears can ignore
The weight of sleep lifted; the window shades of dark orbs
Open to the set time
Oblivious to the exact moment of designed closure, only
Aware of the here and now;
Thanksgiving is offered for one more day of struggle:
To be free of the shackling mind games they play,
We prepare to fight another day.
Only God could have made this chosen day
We cherish
To teach the children the liberating way
That they not perish
In the ongoing struggle to be totally free
Culturally, politically---
And economically be.
Closing in on an all-time high, wars remain in vogue:
Peace has been vetoed
Military-industrial complexes are the nation’s money lode
There is no other road.
At the conference table, negotiations continue
To collect dust
And the compromise remains us.
NYC nior in black and white
NYC nior in black and white
Dark landscapes 1957 NYC
of automats radio city and hotdog stands
memories of things past
Take us back to lucid dreams of light and shadows cast
set the stage late night dark wet NY detectives on the beat
slow moving like grit and steel they stride down the great white way
steam and clouds shoot to the sky from sewer covers
smoke rings blast out from bill boards of urban midnight cowboys
from route 66
On the street hipsters glide down in pinstriped suits
cool sleek long with straddled watch chains dragging
smoking stogies from drooping lips
wing tipped shoes rested on black boxes at shoe shiners row at 53rd and lex
wanting fem defal’s dark diva’s in fish nets tight red skin dresses with sleek spike heels long cigarettes with long brim hats and netted veils as they walk the line swinging their Purses leaning against posts on the foggy corners
Dharma bums gaze at city lights dreaming of old bards songs
through garment push carts and rushing feet
in the machinery of the steamy night
the boxcars moving past open doors
The cities glare in shadows bare
neon signs striptease flashing in the backdrop of honking horns and traffic
night clubs casinos and one night stands in greasy motels
pool hall hustler’s poker players loan sharker's and scheamers
whisky bars dockyard and widowed screams
tenement houses windows open curtains drawn
sweat and muscle tee shirts yelling out to others
saxophone city of butchers boozers bribers and brown baggers
Bright yellow checkers and taxis on Times Square
down the smoke hazed dark lanes against the hard walls
slim Jim zoot suiter’s lazy dazed side leaning
roll loaded dice with steaming cheap Tricks
Newspaper stands and barbers shops with marbled checker floors
white steaming towels with waiting hot lather
man with straight edge and black leather strap leans over
with Sinatra playing in the back
Neon city balanced in chaotic disorder of abstract lines
of municipal signs
city where monk lady day and Coltrane play Improve
in old coffee houses of smoke filled cafes for pennies a day
as street poets whisper and drink their troubles away
dreaming of Brando bogie smoking Joe's and blondes
of slip hips and jive
After we turned from Africa we first lived in Cornwell and I got a job learning to be a riding instructor with Heather Hunt she was a tough lady to work for but her training was excellent I went on to some excellent jobs mainly in racing stables it was great fun especially when on the gallops just imagine a horse full of spirit fired up beneath you one false move and you would be dust as they threw you off. But us stable hands had lots of fun and some heavy drinking sessions. We moved to the midlands for more land and I ran a horse yard with 32 horses 5 which were my own that I did show jumping and eventing with. I had some success, high light was qualifying for Wembley but I lost in the morning so missed being on telly.
I got married which was a mistake and only lasted five days I knew T had done the wrong thing when in his speech my father said I had been offered a job in Germany at one of the top jumping stables and he had turned it down without telling me first. I sold up and went to London where I had a wild time became one of the few ladies allowed to wear full hell's angels colours.
Next I got involved in the music scene and had some very wild times I was Alex Harvey's partner for nearly 10 years those were fantastic, were really wild years but before him I was down near the recording studios on Denmark Street when a man came called Mike he was with the Bow Street Runners and asked me if my tan was all over I dont know why as I was very shy but answered wouldn't you like to know he took a step backwards and then said yes he would. So we had a steamy one night affair he only went on to become Fleetwood Mac oh yes.
Then I met Dougie Jenkinson and went to Jersey with him and my dog Champ who got us thrown off the camp side when he broke the tent trying to follow us. we ended up on the cliffs in our own tent where we lived for about six weeks cooking over an open fire and using a hotel shower where a friend worked. When we returned to London we decided to go to Scotland and so we hitched with Champ and got there eventually. One night on the way there we were dropped in a village miles from anywhere and it started to pour with rain we took shelter in a church porch overnight was the vicar ever so surprised to find us in the morning but he did give us breakfast.
to be continued
In crowded rooms I saw you but feared to say hello,
So I never invited you round for tea, instead I just wallow,
In this life without love, I know not of what I have lost,
And each slightest sun beam cripples in the nightly frost,
Twisted branches hug me, creeping over lumbered limbs
that know my smell, long for my touch and tangle in my sins,
I am desperate to break free from the blackened bark,
And rid me of this sombre paint, my colourless birthmark,
I long to smell the salty breaths of the wild and violet ocean,
But instead I numbly follow each life-long learnt emotion,
But frothy waves desert me,
And these twisted branches hurt me,
Though they say they love me dearly, they pierce into my sullen skin.
When I first met you love, I didn’t know what to think,
I’d been on stormy tides for years and I balanced on the brink,
I know not of what I am my love as I float with you beside,
And I know not of what I will now become on these tempest tides,
To take the risk of having you is to leave known loneliness,
But in this cloistered room my breaths unwillingly confess,
Your flowers bud from rotting wood in calm sporadic delight,
And blossom amongst dewy moss against a sunless fight,
Maybe we can share a brew my dear, a steamy cup of love,
“Please do not shy away from me”, sweetly sings your mourning dove,
But blooming orchids scare me,
And the roses thorns cling to me,
Though I long for your touch my love, I am nothing without my kin.
You say you have always known me love, as though you were always there,
Like you were always at the breakfast table and I always had a chair,
You’ve bought me out of darkness dear, without shadows I cannot hide,
I feel you watching me as I sleep, from my one lamped, one booked bedside,
You’re with me in my dreams my love but not keeping tears at bay,
But now when glassy eyes run deep I’m no longer in the clay,
There will be times when I desert you and leave your loving hold,
But know I’ll always think of you until I am grey and old,
I promise to always love you love and I’ll always be home for tea,
And I thank you love for loving me though at times I’ve wanted to flee,
Now caring words they warm me,
And growing forests holds me,
Though we are new born friends my love, just now I love you love, yes always.
My healthy right mind
is not one likely to retain left brain
disparate details
more than elastic and interconnected trends.
So it has been with U.S. religious history recall.
I live immersed in impressions of indigenous communities
without investment in distinguishing
relationships within ecological nature
from communications between theological spirits;
without language capable of recognizing difference
between left brain either/or outside transcendent divides
and right mind both/and inside immanent imminent dialogue.
I remember early religious cultures
were also natural tribal communities
of profound communication resonance.
I seem to remember prophets for change,
for renewed faith communities,
were those whose personal immersion experiences
within nature/spirit
ecological theologies
were marginalized,
considered heterodox
and/or not colonizingly competitive enough
to safeguard patriarchal fertility
regenerativity
sacred communion
of Earth's interdependent health/wealth web
inherited from faithful progenitors
and projected to continue only without multicultural change
by uniformly utilitarian future robotic generations.
While U.S. religious history
is dominated by exodus trends,
advocates of old time religious revival
often break off from frozen icebergs
claiming it is no more possible for Earth's sinful nature to change
than it is for a transcendent god of punishing jealousy
to change His ever-loving mind about evil nature, fallen
down and up
in and out against good healthy HolySpirit.
Yet this Great Transitional divide,
when we consider global religious history
back to indigenous nature/spirit immersion experience
of multiculturing EarthTribes,
appears like a Great Fall
after, and maybe not before,
this human species became supremely self-anointed prophets
of self-inflicted divine realms
inspiring more of a Great Rapture
co-arising communal healthy wealth
back when prophets
and sages,
seers and witches
were being devoured by dinosaurs,
decimated by protracted frozen winters,
unseasoned steamy swamps
of nature/spirit immersion
in marginalization experiences.
Could it be
that ecological empowering relationship,
or lack thereof,
predicts theological communication,
compassion,
and lack thereof?
Hot as hell, emotions fire the flames,
Nervous about meeting doctors, nurses,
Curtain separates them from congregation,
The veil is not torn in two, but steamy adulation,
Courts their friendship sessions to distance,
Bible fanatic from mum, with a secular pretence:
Stationed to obey that mile that you go,
Faithful to womb child who does overthrow,
That divine validation of mundane everyday life,
Which never does blot his copybook, he’s your invisible wife,
Just because nothing bad happens, then he’s loving,
To be a feature of your relationships and thinking,
So good to give you a furtherer of your animations,
So fine to set converts and following by time within your devotions:
Baby born, and the first thing they said was Jesus!
But I did adjust like a jet, right arm spasm, religion to suss,
Because i had not related perfectly to my mum at all in her beauty,
By getting into a tizzy, a fix about her vaginal cavity:
The umbilical chord did suffocate around my neck,
Three times, and three times to many, ‘cos i hit the deck,
Put in an incubator, a machine my life to sustain,
Where i didn’t depend on maternal caresses to obtain,
That blooming continuation that does greatly assure you of your future,
You expectations, your understandings and boundaries to nurture;
The machine of oxygen and warmth did suffice,
To love this new born child as cold as ice,
To spiritual things and to worlds unknown,
By humankind who only know hell when it’s thrown;
And as I did lurk in my hospital bedroom, or ward,
Like a businessman who is playing the sure investment card:
I wished so much that black book to just disappear,
As it only wrought despair, anxiety and tumultuous fear;
My parents friends, stone cold as delinquent thieves,
Prayed though those days as they sang “Bringing In The Sheaves,”
Whilst appendices of nurses added that they’d do,
Convincing my parents, including doctor-trained dad, that I’d pull through,
They just read the bible to me, over and over,
Through glass ventilator, that separator which did cover,
Happy as chuck, pleased as punch and relaxed enough, in that clever machine,
I clearly didn’t see what they did mean,
Because I was dressed in the NHS, nothing less,
Never this sin to render or confess.