Moist Poems - Poems about Moist

with the mere touch of green grass a surging river of consumption started flowing in the body, the dark clouds of despair remained stuck in the sky the shower of pink period started moistening the air of my roof... ...

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It's not every morning where the juice's flow from every where. Where even green leaves shouldn't be freed from the tree. Here where the white sticky sap ran the length of the tree. A thickness to the air moist air, being sucked in and out by laboring lungs once stout. These are the morning where noon stands still and what is thinly worn sticks to the once...

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Flickering light of chandelier dims, ...

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A moist berry was all I could think about. That burst to wet my tongue. A quenching I could drain away for comfort that would numb. That soul surrounding other berries who's bowl would make them one. Where every spoon dividing them would make a bath undone. And dampen all my spirits bound for hunger that was lost. To honor me with kisses from a spirit...

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Imagine a beginning of a warm moist feeling... That builds and builds until your mind is reeling… Inside a euphoric pleasure when losing control… On top of a satisfaction that does not slow…...

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In the warm moist dew of the morning… Comfort and good feelings do arise… To keep your thoughts from churning… Embrace the pleasure when you rise…...

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Rich roaring rain Plough pretty plain Mind morning mimes Reap rapture’s rhymes Feel festive flair Art ample air Join jazzy jet Sign simple set Bright balloons boom Zap zesty zoom Grand gracious grooves Meet misty moves Dance dewy dreams Such sensuous streams Lift laughter loud Prize precious proud Cheer cloisters choice Ply poignant poise Taste telling times Meet moving mimes Set sight seeing Meet moist morning Leon Enriquez 25 December 2017 Singapore...

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This morning the dew crept into my bed Soaked, I smile uncontrollably The smell of femininity struck my senses so, Sunrise, woke up the sleeping giant...

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"Another Fine Moist" Underground with the worms? It's another fine moist You've gotten me in, Stanley. N'est-ce pas? "The night was moist," wrote Billy Crystal, As the writers-blocked scrivener in "Throw Mama from the Train." You run into many old friends, here. Here in the slime is where I'm at. Let me show you where it's at. And that's a fact, Jack. My ROM brain is...

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The pensiveness of the sky is broken by the cry of a crow, by trees distilling intimacy and moist, vibrant expectancy. Violets, ferns, and birches share life-giving vapors. The chalk-bleak horizon and pungent, poignant odors whisper sonorous secrets. The visitor is enveloped in this pithy, soulful world, all cells saturated with a suggestive sustenance....

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There's a place where men love to go To explore dark moist caves The deepest, moistest caves known to man A most favourite spot they crave If you're not in shape it can make ya sweat But how amazing to succumb Deep in the heart of these dark moist caves You must try it you really must come If your mind's down...

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silver damp moist fog coats golden rods, green ragweed ... oleander blooms...

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moist yet flaky white butter melting spreads just right…. my taste buds excite...

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"""""""""""``````""""""""""" long-stemmed river glides soaking on threads of nectar... ...

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This parched expanse of forlorn loss begs my soul to venture across the cracked terrain of cold disguise to imbue dew within those eyes: a miracle of splendid vim that wets all threats within our swim....

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