Tag: sexy

Porphyria’s Lover, Poetry by Arnab Dey

Walking down the alley,

Suddenly felt a strange wave;

She was strolling towards me,

Fresh out of the grave!

Genre: Rhyme, Sexy, Relationship, Romance

 

Porphyria’s Lover by Arnab Dey

 

1

 

Walking down the alley,

Suddenly felt a strange wave;

She was strolling towards me,

Fresh out of the grave!

 

Her hair was still unkempt,

But her flesh was so intact;

Closer cometh her,

To make an eye contact.

 

Her beauty’s inexplicable,

Beyond my wild fantasy;

Then we’re behind my stone,

To find utmost secrecy.

 

And then I kissed her perfect lips,

And touched her mind & soul;

And then she lifted my spirit,

And my body came along as a whole.

 

And we’d both spirited away,

Traversed through the drunken street;

Onlooking on all the rendezvous,

And deciding where again to meet.

 

 

2

 

Good morning dear,

It’s another day,

Try to get some sleep,

While Sun is in its full glory!

 

Good Afternoon baby,

Are you half-asleep now?

Sunlight is still out there

And church is having its last call.

 

Good evening sweetheart,

Wake up! Wake up!

Let’s start our holy night

While city’s busy relaxing.

 

Good night lover,

Hold my hand and fly away,

Touch all the graves on the way,

It’s time to spread the joy!

 

 

 

    * * * * *

Deadline: FREE POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit:
http://www.wildsound.ca/poetrycontest.html

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It Starts with Her Awkward Hairline, Poetry by Patri Wright

the bit behind her ear, along the bone,
I accidentally on purpose stroke
as the comb starts to move freely. Her head
between my knees, a kiss on her lobe —
something she wouldn’t get in a salon —

Genre: Sexy

It Starts with Her Awkward Hairline
by Patri Wright

the bit behind her ear, along the bone,

I accidentally on purpose stroke

as the comb starts to move freely. Her head

between my knees, a kiss on her lobe —

something she wouldn’t get in a salon —

and fingers that look for further lugs.

The part along her neck too, the transition

of neck and scalp, like beach and sea

where hairs grow upward. Once she

hid it from view, calling herself simian;

and now it’s a zone, one she says I made

for her, that wasn’t there before.

I kiss this too, following the teeth

and say: ‘Repeat: “I am beautiful.”’

She says: ‘You are beautiful.’ Still that’s

better than it was, as I work on her

one stage at a time. All that’s left now

is the style, and I start back with the comb,

fan out a fringe as she watches TV.

The filaments are the days we’ve got left.

Roots of silver I cover with cosmic blue.

And here an echo, almost unheard.

I did this for another. I was smaller.

We had an electric fire. She wore

rollers. And it was far from a chore,

rather utmost pleasure, untangling

strands until they flowed like rivers.

I still seem to know how much pressure

to apply, not to hurt a single nerve.

 

    * * * * *

Deadline: FREE POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit:
http://www.wildsound.ca/poetrycontest.html

Watch Poetry performance readings:

Watch Poetry made into Movies: