Stroking Poems - Poems about Stroking

Clouds float in the vaguer shades of grey Stroking air like silk shawls women wear Mauve and lilac ,blue and white today In summer,whispy white clouds wander by Leaving no long shadows on the doors Winter clouds sail in vague shades of grey The sky is most exquisite when light plays Making patterns on the wooden floors Mauve...

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As the king of my domain I feel like I'm going insane When the chapters of my life just pass me on by Can't figure out why When I live each chapter with plenty of laughter None of it fit like a good mitt This is when we must admit Forever love has to be the right fit I took each day to...

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Coffee hot, coffee cold, doesn't matter I am sold Ain't nuttin' yummier, cept a filly unclothed Now whoa, hold on a jiff Did you say a sexy young dish Stroking my hoo ha getting me started on the road...

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Retirement ain't all it's cracked up to be Finding things to occupy my mind is key Like chasing young fillies Plying them with lilies And watch them melt and stroke my goatee...

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. Thus sat I athwart her boarding as the train’s whistle bellowed I panting stroking mine beard in anticipation mine pen and slip ...

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I watched the blood dribble down past my pale knee it was pretty, from what I could see But as I learned of my deserving of better things The world that laid before me said 'Hello, I am here to please you' In return, I said, 'I am here to please me, too' It's final words to me: 'You knew that all along'...

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as your fingers brush my skin petals of memory are pushed apart, I am left a sigh drenched in want I cross my legs not knowing, their angles would draw your attention your eyes lined the curve of degree, I almost knew when your mouth smiled hello, the pull of your tongue wrapped my need In smoked pearls, and legs of oak turned to butter, spent...

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Ed stirred from his stupor out by the keg when he felt pressure he couldn't quite peg. What a shocker that day! Eddie's best friend was gay, so he said, "Dude, quit pullin' my leg!"...

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Please fill the glass, it is going away. The buzz can't linger on the lips and buds. And now his legs will give to ridge and sway or stick to floors and stop the soul as mud from a cold day in April or in March. Nowhere to go, he laughs and begs to stay. Last call was hollered by the...

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