Category Archives: EROTIC POETRY

Colors had finally died, lied, made

me think, blink in ghostly breaths,


I laid ashen and blush, everything hush,

pale, and upon me You climb,

snowing, exploding….

Skin on skin, open, gaped in blurry


I quiver, shiver as you lick the

folds of Spring away…..



He makes me sore, through my pores, and i want


Pushing my limits, always and more, to my core….

My dark muse brought to life, like a knife he splits,

becomes apart of me, my only plea….

He’s kissed every inch, pinched, leaving

his mark till we part…..

I love feeling him the next morning,

his smell still inside me, sore, till

i want more…..


Past the backdoor to the front, on knees, nose to doorbell,

my soul sealed, done deal…..

Sucking my feet, trick or treat….

In your warmth I can be found when no ones


Teeth on nipple and I ripple, pushing me just

a little bit more, your little whore….

Spanks ass, breaking me like glass,

and I submiss, only with a kiss, as it

slips between my reds…..

Nails on back, sublime cracks to let you


Hair in hands, every strand gold, bold

as you control……

You nudge, shove, inside, out, making

me drought, until your mouth is

there again…..water me……



Pussy howling, on the prowl to meet and


*Image taken from Pinterest*


That he is adorable, so much younger than me,

but, could he be the key to unlocking…me…..

His eyes like the skies, i want to dip and fly…in


His hair neat, calm, and imagine getting

tangled there, just to hear his breath against

my neck….

I’d like to taste him, hard, soft, maybe, teases

just to see shadows cross over, the afterlife waiting,

baiting, will he, or won’t he….?

Could praying hands touch sin and still


He knows…because i told him so…..


The Skin I Live In: Jedrek Pordzik + Konstantin Vasiliev by Ian Chiang

Let me taste you slowly and drown in your waters Baptismal rites Let your moans slowly ascend upward Melting interlocking fingers Burning liquid and flaming tongues. . .

via Lingerie Literature — CableScript




Are you…wanna be my fuck boy, toy?

To turn the moon blood red while giving you


I’ve always known love was not for me, you see….

Can I straddle while you paddle……..please…..?

I’ve dreamed of you a million times until you finally

become real, my thrill….

I want to become soppy wet, my pet as your

fingertips pretend to drift on bliss as my eyes

roll back, riding you, if only your mother knew…..

Between the pews we play instead of pray as

God watches, cusses….

So long and lean, your hands run red as you trace,

heart race, meeting blue skies and tied dyes…..

I run in fields of gold, flowing through pink flowers,

as we blend, bend, taking you deep, playing for keeps….

Mouth on me, stirring Heaven in my veins, insane…..

I gush, rush, and I don’t want to be saved….

You, the sunlight, me, your dark dream….

I wonder what you would sound like when you come,

would you say my name in shame…..stay

hard, in charge….?

We, sinners, having each other for dinner….

I wipe my mouth, eyes meet, famished all over



social underground



A Student Literary Journal

hands in the garden

short poems for short attention spans

Diary of a Psychokiller

take a trip with me to the darkside


Rippling Juices Of The Bright Eyes


Thoughts on an ever-evolving life

Darkland Poetry

Writings from Rachel Firmin


. . .can you imagine?

During the days in which I choose to conform, I do so with a specific feeling in mind that I want to achieve. A sort of climax that I aim to reach. A feeling effortlessly maintained between the ages of 6-9 and again between the ages of 13-15, when being a girl was simply one of the numerous ways of being.


Where bad things make you feel good...


Views of a Dandelion Girl

Tshombe Sekou

Poetics & Rumens

Sheila Renee Parker

Author. Paranormal. Romance. Fantasy. Follow Sheila on Twitter! @sheilarparker