erotic red rose.thumbnail Finding the beauty of sexuality with Erotic PoetrySummer hasn’t arrived, but I’m already horny, but wait…. I’m always horny. So I decided to tap into this never ending abyss of desire and share a collection of erotic poetry with my readers. If this blog in anyway contributes to you having just one more sexual encounter in your life…. Wasn’t it worth the read? So what are you waiting for…. Start reading….. or otherwise…. You know what I mean…Man standing before erotica Finding the beauty of sexuality with Erotic Poetry

The Sick Rose William Blake

O Rose thou art sick.

The invisible worm.

That flies in the night

In the howling storm: Has found out thy bed Of crimson joy: And his dark secret love Does thy life destroy.

Rapture by Karin Schaefer

There is a place for us
that no one else can enter.
It is a place that holds no secrets,
only beauty, peace, understanding.
A place that we come to,

thinking we are one,only to have our souls fused together for a moment.  And in that moment, I know you; every pore, every pulse,every thought, every fear.

And I love you more. I feel myself laid bare before you,
and I feel content . . .  joyous that you are with me,  loving me in my nakedness.

 

angelina jolie hot erotic photo.thumbnail Finding the beauty of sexuality with Erotic PoetryPassion’s Flames by Jeffrey Carter

A touch, soft and tender.
A whisper, full of desire
A gasp of sweet surrender
As passion fuels the fire
No words spoken between them No promises to be kept
No lies being told tonight No looking back – no regrets
Longing to hold each other Such precious little time Both vowed to another - Being lonely their only crime - Tomorrow bringing sorrow – A brief moment of shame – With the memory of this one night – A release from passion’s flames

“What Do Women Want?” by Kim Addonizio

I want a red dress. I want it flimsy and cheap, I want it too tight, I want to wear it until someone tears it off me. I want it sleeveless and backless, this dress, so no one has to guess what’s underneath. I want to walk down the street past Thrifty’s and the hardware store with all those keys glittering in the window, past Mr. and Mrs. Wong selling day-old donuts in their café, past the Guerra brothers slinging pigs from the truck and onto the dolly, hoisting the slick snouts over their shoulders. I want to walk like I’m the only woman on earth and I can have my pick.  I want that red dress bad. I want it to confirm your worst fears about me, to show you how little I care about you or anything except what I want. When I find it, I’ll pull that garment from its hanger like I’m choosing a body to carry me into this world, through the birth-cries and the love-cries too, and I’ll wear it like bones, like skin, it’ll be the goddamned dress they bury me in.

More! by Michael Anderson

I see myself holding you close to me,
Squeezing your body tight.
But for all I see as I daydream-
I know I’ll get tenfold tonight.

Running my palms across your breast,
As you tremble and bite your lip.
Feeling your hands upon my chest,
The softness of each fingertip.

Tasting your neck so sweet, so soft, And slowly lowering my kiss.
Over pert nipples, across your navel, And finally into pure bliss.

Looking upon your face from below- As you tilt back your head.
Feeling your fountains begin to flow- As you ease back on the bed.

Your “innocent little devil” look- Crying insatiably with the sensation.
Lip to lip lapping up every drip- From the well of your creation.

The way you pull me up by the hair-To the heat of your mouth, on fire.

No other thoughts, no other cares,
Just the quenching of mad desire. Riding the tide of passion,
Pushing my love into you. On the waves of your emotion-In slow motion, so sweet and true.  Pulse pounding in resounding rapture, Taken to the hilt, then just past. Rhythm growing, faces glowing,
The climax coming fast. That heated, illicit look- Of ecstasy across your eyes.
The culmination nearing- Within your undulating thighs.
Echoing throughout the heavens- On overindulgent cries.

The sultry look upon your face- In reaching that gyrating gush.
The way you bite my fingers- When I try to make you hush.

Your arching back, your fingernails, Your perfume mixed with sweat.
The way you keep rubbing against me- With your insides already so wet.
The way when I’m beat dead and ready-
To fall face first to the floor,
You put your sweet lips to my ear- And whisper, “I want more!

 

Lover’s Dance by Poet deVine

 

Glistening bodies entwined
in an ageless erotic dance,
seeking pleasures from each other,
seeking wonder and romance.Their lips meet in soft kisses,
their tongues begin passion’s war.
Forgotten now, the outside world.
All is here, behind this door.

He strokes her body tenderly,
she arches up for his caress.
He finds her silken portal
and her womanly wetness.

She moans in fiery desire
and pulls his hand away,
wishing to end this exquisite torture
and get on with passion’s play.

She straddles his waiting body,
eases him into her feminine hollow.
She leads him on a rhythmic dance,
his thrusting hips must follow.

She rides him faster, even then,
to hear his wondrous sighs.
She shows him all the delights
she has between her womanly thighs.

They stare into each other’s eyes
and gasp as ecstasy unreels,
and tangles them in a lover’s knot
that every answer reveals.

Sated, they lie side by side,
spent but hungering still.
She touches him where their passion came
and tastes their lovers spill.

Their mouths meet in passionate need,
hungry animals once more.
This time he rises above her,
her body to explore.

Their ballet begins again,
as he thrusts his manhood in,
vowing not to end the dance
unless her cries he’ll win.

Like beasts of old they become,
riding with desire,
only resting their throbbing bodies
when sated by their fire.

erotic flower.thumbnail Finding the beauty of sexuality with Erotic PoetryThe Subverted Flower

By Robert Frost

 

She drew back; he was calm:
“It is this that had the power.”
And he lashed his open palm
With the tender-headed flower.
He smiled for her to smile,
But she was either blind
Or willfully unkind.
He eyed her for a while
For a woman and a puzzle.
He flicked and flung the flower,
And another sort of smile
Caught up like fingertips
The corners of his lips
And cracked his ragged muzzle.
She was standing to the waist
In golden rod and brake,
Her shining hair displaced.
He stretched her either arm
As if she made it ache
To clasp her – not to harm;
As if he could not spare
To touch her neck and hair.
“If this has come to us
And not to me alone -”
So she thought she heard him say;
Though with every word he spoke
His lips were sucked and blown
And the effort made him choke
Like a tiger at a bone.
She had to lean away.
She dared not stir a foot,
Lest movement should provoke
The demon of pursuit
That slumbers in a brute.
It was then her mother’s call
From inside the garden wall
Made her steal a look of fear
To see if he could hear
And would pounce to end it all
Before her mother came.
She looked and saw the shame:
A hand hung like a paw,
An arm worked like a saw
As if to be persuasive,
An ingratiating laugh
That cut the snout in half,
And eye become evasive.
A girl could only see
That a flower had marred a man,
But what she could not see
Was that the flower might be
Other than base and fetid:
That the flower had done but part,
And what the flower began
Her own too meager heart
Had terribly completed.
She looked and saw the worst.
And the dog or what it was,
Obeying bestial laws,
A coward save at night,
Turned from the place and ran.
She heard him stumble first
And use his hands in flight.
She heard him bark outright.
And oh, for one so young
The bitter words she spit
Like some tenacious bit
That will not leave the tongue.
She plucked her lips for it,
And still the horror clung.
Her mother wiped the foam
From her chin, picked up her comb,
And drew her backward home.

-Robert Frost (1874-1963)

To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time by Robert Herrick

erotic virgin.thumbnail Finding the beauty of sexuality with Erotic PoetryGather ye rosebuds while ye may, Old Time is still a-flying; And this same flower that smiles today Tomorrow will be dying. The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun, The higher he’s a-getting, The sooner will his race be run, And nearer he’s to setting. That age is best which is the first, When youth and blood are warmer; But being spent, the worse, and worst Times still succeed the former. Then be not coy, but use your time, And while ye may, go marry; For having lost but once your prime, You may forever tarry.

 

Meadow Again by Daniel James Burt

Moon hangs, almost full
pieces of cloud scatter,
glide in soft, summer breeze.
We lay in our meadow
listening to the sound of night
her head nestled on my arm.
her breath stirs, awakens.  Hands join in gentle caress exploration shared and renewed oh, so smooth and lovely. We turn, lips meeting slow, softly, delicate
building quickly to demand.  Crying out, beginning and end
collapsing, breathing ragged
moon hangs, slightly fuller.”

Hope you enjoyed the selections.  Please feel free to add or share something below in the comment section. Thanks…


One Response to Finding the beauty of sexuality with Erotic Poetry

  1. Anonymous says:

    The words are very sweet but one must ask a question for the story to be complete. Is it the size of the wand or the skill of the magician that leads to a repeat?

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