Sex Poems - Poems about Sex

newspaper business has brought us far

newspaper business has brought us far
to these territories where desert rivers
descend from    huge clouds cultivated
but we live on        twisted lips to build
something for              those coming in
oh you who love   

I can't be

I can’t be
 sharing 
 my body  
 with you  
 who’s now a shallow pool 
 though the room is offices
 I can hear them panting now
   his saliva wet every bedsheet
he’s your boss
          your CEO
     

Assigning one color to one sex

it is strange to me that a color means something
by itself, it elicits memories and experiences
orange is my go-to color, not blue or pink
yet did they dress me in orange when I was a baby?
in the fifties? I rather doubt it.
Actually, most of the photos of me as a baby
show me in a diaper and

An Apertif

Her craft had a sizzle and spark,
Lighting up to cook after dark.
So his brainpan swam,
“That’s one succulent clam!”
A morsel, just right for the shark.

poem number 2 from poetica ads

                                 in the foundry
                   

Smokey sex

The hum hum of the music
One sleepy face
The shisha lights
You in front of me
Taken
But oh good sex
You took a look at me
I could not stop my smile
Pretended smoking cough

The hum hum of the music
One sleepy face
The neon lights
You in front of me
I smile 
Oh smokey sex.

Crime of Sex

They called it short gratification—
but I lost my soul in the trade.
A moment’s pleasure,
for a lifetime of emptiness,
a spark that consumed
the temple I once was.

O Woman,
your body is not desire’s playground—
it is the chalice of divinity.
If you fail to respect your sacred form,
no man ever will.
Each man you lie with,
leaves an imprint upon your soul.
And

Sipping Tea at a Brothel

He pays.
He leaves.

And she bleeds quietly.



Some come for release,

others for control.

Some come to forget.

Some to remember.

Some to be punished.

Some just come because it’s cheap.



It's sin.

It’s not sin.

It’s survival.

It’s escape.

It’s addiction.

It’s barter.

It's bargain.

It's need.

It’s ritual.



Here, bodies are commodities.

Sold by the hour.

Measured by the weight, age and colour of the skin,

freshness of smile,

limpness of resistance.



It is commercialisation

love, not just sex

it wasnt hunger,
not the kind that burns then fades -
but a softness,
a gravity between us
pulling soul to soul
through skin.

we touched without taking,
moved like water moves -
fluid, inevitable,
shaped only by the need
to hold,
not to own

my hands said "stay",
yours said "im here"
without a word.

when we met -
fully, fiercely,
with nothing held back -
it was not fire,
but light.

not a

All For The Thought Of Sex

All For The Thought of Sex

Make the beast with two backs,
Give a girl a green gown,
Let's rock the bed and shake the sheets,
Sometimes it sounds kind of creepy,
But hey, lets take another leap,
You can go get your berries razzled,
Maybe let someone poke your hontus,
You can tickle the pickle,
Possably cup the coconuts,
Go rock your rump,
Let them

Sex on My Mind

It started when I saw you
Those seductive eyes
Those luscious lips
That pretty little smile...
Those tasty looking hips...
I wanted to kiss you,
I wanted to taste you...
I wanted your body on top of mine...
I couldn't resist you...
The way you talk...
The sexy way you walk...
Every time you look at me,
We would talk and we'd laugh,
I'd blush one second...
Bite my

Like A Rabbit

No one says my goal is to be an ex addict
Not cursing them for their confessed habit
We all fall short
Of goals my Lord
I confess to wanting sex like a rabbit

The Days Between

I reach across the pillow bare 
And caress you with my thigh
And upon your lips
I gently bite
And breathe your hungry sigh
 
You pull me close
Hip to hip
My body is in song
A hallucinatory return to where I still belong
 
We are a skein of tangled feelings
Traversing time and space
Incantatory memories rouse us  
As we begin

Gradations of Color

Hydration day’s a month away.
Online belonging company’s an hour from 
startup stardom. Titration hors-d'oeuvre 
Viewfinder pigeonholed 
to rooftop tourist 
traps ruin’d carriage holy woods 
Hollywood's margins, Carousel 13. 
Things You’ll Bury: 
molasses sourdough flowers crypto-
currency marginalia Lost (Bach set) 
ghouls in blockchain interdigita.
Me, if I’ve missed anyone, LL cool j.—
  < so. jersey. kühl

Coyotes, Sex, and Cartridges: Mary in the Window

The American South sits in my throat like grief.

Faded floral curtains on
Either side of a square, stained window
Brown flecks, sometimes red, like the one in
My brother’s eye—
Nobody knows where they come from.

Do you think
	Eve and Lilith used to kiss?
		In the garden where no one could see?

New Mexico coyotes, dug up from pond banks
	Smile at me

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