Short Libidos Poems

Laminated libidos
Liquidate lovelorn longings
Lunar Lycanthropes...

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She pauses, slender figure poised on
slenderer heels,

five inches of coquetry
ready to duet with
fifty feet of parquetry,

play a wicked staccato on
dinner-jacketed libidos.

Then she pushes open the double door
to find a newly carpeted floor....

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Awakened
         feelings now move me
        into a new light with you.
We seem to respond so naturally
       to each other’s advances,
               as our libidos
                 take control.


Septet syllable count is 3,5,7,9,7,5,3, unrhymed...

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A page turns in a bodice-ripping book.

Ladies wanting to escape
into a different romance
from their snoring spouse
read in bed,

it is then 
when heads hit pillows,
that libidos takes flight

female tingles;
a thrilling novel,
a body
to be read only at night....

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The woman
That pirouettes and pirouettes,
Pirouetting as she sweats
And pirouette amongst the reveries
Of men, ---
Underneath the strobe lights
Their libidos
Are great black swans
Against the bloodied vanilla sky.
In the moment
They bark crimson pyre.
The woman, ---
Pirouetting as she sweats,
Young men....

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It left me sour 
the realities 
of the hidden 
man within 
the abode 
of every 
single soul 
in-dweller 
Seated on 
the high 
glorified 
lecherous 
city debauchery 
Attacks even 
In every eyes 
Closed for a 
Sleep and mess 
up sour libidos 
You may not 
Understand it 
But it is a sour 
Thing indaboski...

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......Like lemons
Love lingers longingly.
Laughter lights lips lapping
Loco lemon lollipops
       lodging
           < liquid>
               lust.
            Lofting
	Ludicrous licentiousness.
Licking 
     languid limbs.~ ~lap~
	Libertine libidos
lose liberty laughing
     life long
         ~loves~
lean lemony lips
 
               Lionhearts
                    !litmus lovers!
                         LIVE!...

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Those yelling voices from various tenements
Sounded like the sad treble of girls
In cellars where leviathans
In a spree flourished forced libidos:
The lasses trembling in rude arms!

Sir –
Still in their yellow bloom
Pig-watchers of the wider forest
Clad in the swords of midnight warriors
Performed the vicar’s rituals.

A blue hour lamented the gloom!
In the morning more skulls lie
A trash of real weavers!
(Prof, a sad lad heard the tales told!)...

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