Long Thighs Poems
Long Thighs Poems. Below are the most popular long Thighs by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Thighs poems by poem length and keyword.
Alone in the silence of the night
Not a peep, not a sound, not a single noise
Yet between the quiet folds of silence
Sat a young girl crying
Barely noticeable to even the shadows in her room
Yet still very much visible
To those who even cared to truly see
Not just watch, but to actually see
Her hot tears burning her black skin
Even the tears couldn't stand to be apart of her pain
Blood spilled was blood haunted
By the weight she was burdened with
To be young, a woman and black
She was taught to be neither seen nor heard
To be a ghost of a girl she once was
Before reality hit, before she lost her innocence
Stolen by a patriarchal racist world
Where being a black woman meant being punished for not doing what we are told
By the end of her blacked out rampage
She was more red than black
Her thighs screaming in pain an euphoria
Wanting to be seen
Yet wanting to also savour this moment of temporary control
Despite feeling weak she had never felt stronger
This was her choice and this she would forever remember
To have a moment of peace when she can have a breather
To her it was the best stress reliever
She thought it was ironic thay now she had destroyed herself
In turning into a walking barcode
Would mean she would finally be worth something
i see journeys and vacations ahead
i see dreams and smiles that put e to bed
stars shine as streetlights tonight
i visit the depths of slumber without putting up a fight
flowers grow as i think of her
the wishes and the longings causes a prolonged purr
if i ever tasted the mocha flavour of your inner thighs
the sweet scent of you will reinvigorate my wilted nature to rise
when i land at the destination i thought i would never see
the magnificence of your hiccup moans will reawaken the shy passion in me
the fire and the flame, the flame and the fire
the exuberance of the merged eruption, the comforting moral of the desire
in the morning we rejoice like the cardinals singing outside
we return to the world recharged and perfectly back in stride
Enlisting the charms
of the fire,
in wistful music
I spoke from the lyre
Entrancing the beckoning
to his knees,
this bubbling lust
is slightly freed
A trail of whisper
licks my ear,
drawing me close
to hold me near
Touching a rose
tips the peaks,
a burgeoning lust
is lightly tweaked
Unbuttoning need
in frenzied grasps,
ripping to free
a stubborn clasp
Fumbling fingers
brush and bump,
grinding of hips
begins the thump
Parting the thighs
that flamed the ache,
speared in the fire
that ripple’s to wake
Licking the ether
lining the why,
turning to jelly
lost in his eyes
A silent scream
in nature is heard,
as Ecstasy feeds
I fly like a bird
Peeling the layers
that shaded the orbs,
discovering bliss
as your taste is absorbed
The Painter
If I were a painter tested tried and true.
The only thing I'd ever paint were my visions of you.
Behind you lies a sunset. And buried deep into your eyes.
Only I would know the secret where I hid the new sunrise.
Candles burning soft and low touching your soft skin.
That flicker in the night time air, every now and then.
Covered by an evening gown as you lay there at rest.
Moonlight like a long lost friend lights the cleavage of your breast.
Fingertips laying soft and still painted like your eyes.
Somehow still their beckoning as they lay against your thighs.
A gentle breeze you almost see to let you know it's there.
Brush the painted flower I place in your hair.
Yes if I were a painter tested tried and true.
The only thing I'd ever paint are my visions of you.
Edwin C Hofert
For this last poem I choose "I don't know?" and "baptism" since this is old, and that I found that survived the burnings. I no longer write like this, but this last one is more towards my slant like Robert Creeley.
love via negative
it is rumored
in my mind that
i smell the roses
of your eyes, that
i blindly read the wrinkled
braille of your thighs, but
i cannot speak
expressively of
your feet,
and hands and
so must dance
and clap in
instictive
musical
memory.
when i
to you
face
face to
face, to
say, how
can i
say, how
i can't
love
you. then,
well maybe
then, you
will know
how much
i do
Form:
”Rego’s threescore encore tour”
(one of me oldest/best mates has just turned sexy/sixty and is celebrating in Ronda in Espagna)
Did you hear..“Wow the Rego’s Sexy”
So tasty.. like Iberico jamon
Come on ..don’t be hasty.. cloth ears
Before it goes to his head
His peers said “the Ego’s.. Now Sixty”
As those he holds dear all ponder
The wonder of those hero years
Having a ball..let’s say cheers
To a Brummie (with a touch of svelte Celt) not a Scallie
Rich voice of Villa on the pitch
Of course Redditch does bewitch
But he gets that wanderlust itch
Marky couldn’t be much fonder
Of a wee wander..then dilly dally
Won’t keep tally …go dullally
Rally down a hammy tapas alley
Fawns about those prawns over yonder
With your ladies..shindig grin adorns the big daddy
No whammy…just so bloody jammy..lucky plucky Paddy
Clearly can still be a really silly billy
But don’t let it fester..won’t pester
Fiesta to siesta…the jester of Ronda
He denies its lies...this guy’s got a prize wil*y
Sixty years young…still well hung
Between his thighs..behind his flies
He does surmise..the size of an anaconda
Famous for an old bridge over a ruddy ridge
Flocks in the tourist mist..tall tales
But what a shock..never ever fails
To be now.. somehow beer a clock
My sneaky cheeky buddy..
Lovely locks…you “silver fox”
Anyhow have a corking trip…run amok..
Let rip….aficianado bravado…wind in your sails
Blissed yesteryear gist..bucket list scale
And we’re not talking about the stale
Fuddy duddy.. austere que*r valley
That in comparison pales…& hails from Wales (Rhondda)
p.s does tickle me that.. already in a ickle bit of a pickle.. you drain another jar in Spain …no shame..a thirst you can’t tame…that ha ha…not being fickle..R-onda (red honda) is also my car’s name …
creepy eyes sparkle
from scary pumpkin faces
halloween is here!
******
At Halloween it’s my birthday
Lots of ghouls come round to play
(They are really children from my street)
Their creepy costumes look really neat
I helped mummy mix and make
A scary spider birthday cake
Our table groans with lots of party food
and creepy decorations set a scary mood
We have so many tasty treats to eat
huge sandwiches cut like monster’s feet,
tubs of popcorn ‘brains’ and boiled egg eyes
and green slime pie and vampire thighs
We made massive jugs of red lemonade
Using colouring for that blood red shade
When the party’s over we will head to the street
And knock on doors to trick and treat
******
Fabulous fun and fancy food with friends and family
Pretty parcels and presents precariously piled
Cornucopia of cookies, candy, chocolate and cards
Trick and treating takes time
Bulging bags bursting with bright bonbons
Cornucopia contest
Sponsored by Kim Rodrigues
11-06-17
Form:
As we get older I’ve noticed fat kids get thin
become vain selfie taking as they hit the gym
as did we way back in our teens all those years ago
they've caught up with us slowly but then were fatsos.
Being overweight puts you 10 years behind
the cost of having depth so wide
til recently your fatness still reached 2009
when exercise and sport had been my whole life
and you were accused of eating all the pies.
Please realise these days you appear stupid
you haven’t learnt cus no one noticed the fat kid
thus never taught you don’t behave like a Dick
you may be healthy but you act like a Rick.
Being healthy doing exercise
is different to eating all the pies
when we were in to it like you guys
we weren’t vanity driven S T I’s.
We played sport won the prize
now we haven't thunder thighs
and we're not eating all in sight
I don't mean to be sly,
but you're 15 years behind.
We were actually athletes,
you're the fungus on our foot,
we used it too compete,
you just do it for the look...
I'd rather be me than a former fat fook
Thong Thing Is Wrong
Thong thing is wrong
Cellulite women rolled on folds of flesh
Over waves and seas that crest
What are those monstrosities
Whales washed up on beaches
Thin strings not quite bikinis hide nothing
Obese creatures covered by mounds of pounds
Blot out the sun uncomfortably
As the fat eat Twinkies, dream of being Twiggy
Oh Doris please don't put on weight
Put on your tent. Save us from nightmares in the day
Tides move when you step in the water
Displace the natural order
Fish run from you. Forget how to swim
Naked can be scary by the sea
What is that giant thing standing in the sand
Dressed in almost nothing, held together by a string
What waddles down the shore
Thinking a black cloth makes one thin
Oh this fashion does not make for happy
Dreams and illusions bury the thighs in lies
Under the sun filling up horizons sky
Surprise! Eyes bleed at this frightening sight
Makes old and young cry. No place to hide
Ocean sojourns once were fun
Watching bikini clad women run
Nudity is meant for others more young
Eye candy, shapely, sexy and thin to begin with
Weight escaping on all sides exposed
Pretending to be pretty and thin is quite the trick
Girls come in all shapes and sizes
Some have been known to raise the tides
In disguise, hiding behind a smile exposes it
The thong thing is wrong
Please make it stop. Make it quit
You not interested in knowing my mind,
But your only keen attraction is on my external being.
My interior is nothing you concern to know,
So you gaze at physicality,
And not at the comprehension that obtain in I.
The intoxication of our lips pressed as one,
Brings the dissolved moisture of your inside to surge
down your thighs,
And has the nipple aroused for love manufacture.
You take the diversion that seeks from my mouth,
And takes it as the delightful moment in your life.
You thrust your body on pinnacle of mines,
And have my hands melted into yours like,
Ice cream on a scorching summer day.
You endure the lust to seek out of you,
But your nervous that it may petrified the love you
desire to request for inside.
So we adage in a dialogue,
And you sense my terminology touch your soul.
We continue to amuse each other for hours,
And then your temptation insincerity clutches no
longer.
The being of you attacks me,
Kissing hard and passionate,
Pressing your body deep into mines,
And feeling the beating of my empathy thump numerously
for yours.
So through all the exotic obsession of devotion,
The construction of desire is seeking out of your
pours onto me.
But once the construction of love making has ended,
And the night turns into day;
We terminate the perception of one another.
Cause once again,
The night of instance adore creation,
Has shattered the existence of love to be formed.
Form: