Lesbian Poetry - the best Lesbian Poems of Love, Passion and Pain

It might surprise you to learn that poetry written by women about the women they love, a.k.a. erotic lesbian poetry or Lesbian Love Poems, has been around since at least the 1800’s and is just as lusty and steamy, if not more so, than what we write today.

But what do we understand by poetry?

Poetry is described as: literary work in which special attention is given to the expression of feelings and ideas by the use of distinctive style and rhythm.

But what exactly does that refer to?

Don’t authors of romance and erotica also express feelings of lust, desire, sexual climax and deep satisfaction?

The answer is ‘yes,’ but poetry has a style and rhythm that is unlike any other type of writing mankind currently uses.

Read on to find more about why steamy poems can provide so much value and discover the best Steamy Lesbian Poems!

By the way: if you look for some of the best Erotic Poems, no matter the sexual orientation, do not miss our large selection of the 30 Best Erotic Poems that supercharge your Love Life!

The Chinese woman by the name of Wu Tsao was a celebrated lesbian poet who was well-known for writing poetry to courtesans. In one poem for the courtesan, Ch’ing Lin, Tsao writes:

“…One smile from you when we meet,
 And I become speechless and forget every word...
 You glow like a perfumed lamp
 In the gathering shadows.
 I want to possess you completely –
 Your jade body
 And your promised heart.”

There’s no doubt that Wu Tsao knew how to express her longing through poetry and she’s certainly not the only one. Throughout time and especially into the last decade or so, poetry has taken on new life and new meaning for lesbian women.

Natalie Diaz wrote a beautiful ode to female lovers that was in part posted to Auto Straddle and reads:

Wanting her was so close to prayer –
 I should not. But it was July
 and in a city where desire means, Upstairs we can break each other open the single blessing, I had to give was Mouth –
 so gave and gave I did.

What a sensual way to describe a sweet rendezvous in the height of summer and love’s delicate, delightful kiss?

Here’s a short and to the point poem from SachaG1971 on All Poetry.

I daydream of you for a moment or two, I can’t wait for you to be near me.
 You tantalize my thoughts, so they are all now caught, in my X-rated tale, of delight!

Here is a another snippet of a beautiful Lesbian Erotic Poem by poet Audrey Lorde, just to make you more curious...

…and I knew when I entered her I was
 high wind in her forests hollow
 fingers whispering sound
 honey flowed
 from the split cup
 impaled on a lance of tongues
 on the tips of her breasts on her navel
 and my breath
 howling into entrances
 through lungs of pain…

It’s easy to fall into the trap that all poetry, especially love poetry, is created equal.

But like all books or all paintings are as individual as the author or artist who did the work; poetry is as singularly individual as it’s author.

So, without further ado here are some super-sexy erotic lesbian poems to heat you up.

A poet by the name Khan doesn’t hold back when it comes to spending a steamy, sexy night with a teacher. While this poet doesn’t elaborate on whether it was her teacher, she does give a peek into the erotic time the two shared ... and what has been taught.

A Night with a Teacher:

I dreamed of you last night
 in a flimsy see-through robe
 You took me in your hands
 and kissed my vicious eyes
 fondling my tiny breasts

You laid me on your bed
 undressed me like a doll
 and tasted all I had

Your tongue was a hissing snake
 your mouth was a mouth of cat
 you seemed to be starved for years

You taught me how to be had
 by a teacher hot and randy
 who wants to taste my juices

You made me moan and scream
 It was a luscious dream.

It might surprise you to know that Emily Dickinson, a notoriously famous author and poet was one of society’s most policed lesbians, according to Go Mag. That didn’t stop her, however, from penning words of passion in her classic tone.

While this poem doesn’t have a title, it leaves no doubt as to Dickenson’s need for her partner, who is claimed to have been her sister-in-law, Susan.

Done with the Compass –
 Done with the Chart!

Rowing in Eden –
 Ah – the Sea!
 Might I but moor – tonight –
 In thee!

If you love the poetry of Emily Dickinson, we have special hint for you:

you should definitely read the collection of intimate letters between her and her sister-in-law, Susan Huntington. Although a combination of poetry and prose, it unravels the power of a love which has to be kept secretly!

In Love, Death and the Changing of the Seasons, Marilyn Hacker discusses the tragedies and triumphs of life.

And believe us: Marilyn Hacker is famous for her ‘in your face’ poetry that tells it like it is.

In the poem below she spells out exactly the heart-pounding moment when you’re so swamped with love and need that nothing else, but the one we love, will do.

Although I’d cream my jeans touching your breast,
 sweetheart, it isn’t lust; it’s all the rest
 of what I want with you that scares me shitless.

No introduction needed - just enjoy:

Inside no bigger than a corncrib. The door shuts from outside.
 They can hear the board drop into the slot, the angry man
 shut in to stand stud, the woman on her back on cornshucks,
 who later, bloody, smothers her new daughter in rough homespun.

Inside a white-washed, lamplit room, a man bends over
 a ledger: Boy Jacob Seventy-Five Dollars, Five Sows
 and Sixteen Piggs Twenty Dollars. His pen flickers:
 how fast could the pair he bought cheap increase five-fold
 because God had said replenish the earth and subdue it?

Now the aunts are asking about her children, the boy
 babies who'd so pleased, with their white skin, silky
 crisp as new-printed money, a good thing too, with the farm
 lost long ago. Beatrice wonders if the youngest sister

remembers the noon she snapped the bedroom door open

on her, arched, aching, above the girl cousin, taking

turns on the carefully made-up bed. Flushed like dove

out of the room's dusty shade, they murmured denials.

They ended the long kissing that gets no children.

Her nipples had been brown-pink like a bitten-into fig,

gritty sweet, never tasted, lost as her cousin dressed

after a night they'd sunk together in the feather mattress

hip to hip, hair tangled, kinky brown, springcoiled blonde,

skin stuck to humid skin in the sandy damp sheets. Dressed,

at breakfast, elbow to elbow, they ate biscuits and jelly.

She never claimed her with a look, no wherewithal, no currency
 in love, no madness, no money, only a silent vacancy

Only the stupor of lying alone on the bed reading: The man

takes the woman roughly in his arms, pushes her down. If

she lay still enough, she might feel. Pressing herself

down. The bedspread's blunt crochet cuts into her face,

her cheek rouged and gouged by the thread's harsh twist.

my lover is a woman
 and when I hold her
 feel her warmth
 I feel good
 feel safe

then - I never think of
 my family’s voices
 never hear my sisters say
 bulldaggers, queers, funny
 come see us, but don’t
 bring your friends
 it’s ok with us,
 but don’t tell mama
 it’d break her heart
 never feel my father
 turn in his grave
 never hear my mother cry
 Lord, what kind of child is this?

my lover’s hair is blonde
 and when it rubs across my face
 it feels soft
 feels like a thousand fingers
 touch my skin & hold me
 and I feel good

then - I never think of the little boy
 who spat & called me nigger
 never think of the policemen
 who kicked my body & said crawl
 never think of Black bodies
 hanging in trees or filled
 with bullet holes
 never hear my sisters say
 white folks hair stinks
 don’t trust any of them
 never feel my father
 turn in his grave
 never hear my mother talk
 of her backache after scrubbing floors
 never hear her cry
 Lord, what kind of child is this?

my lover's eyes are blue
 and when she looks at me
 I float in a warm lake
 feel my muscles go weak with want
 feel good
 feel safe

then - I never think of the blue
 eyes that have glared at me
 moved three stools away from me
 in a bar
 never hear my sisters rage
 of syphilitic Black men as
 guinea pigs
 rage of sterilized children
 watch them just stop in an
 intersection to scare the old
 white bitch
 never feel my father turn
 in his grave
 never remember my mother
 teaching me the yes sirs & ma'ams
 to keep me alive
 never hear my mother cry
 Lord, what kind of child is this?

and when we go to a gay bar
 and my people shun me because I crossed
 the line
 and her people look to see what's
 wrong with her
 what defect
 drove her to me

and when we walk the streets
 of this city
 forget and touch
 or hold hands
 and the people
 stare, glare, frown, & taunt
 at those queers

I remember
 every word taught me
 every word said to me
 every deed done to me

and then I hate
 I look at my lover
 and for an instant
 doubt

then - I hold her hand tighter
 and I can hear my mother cry.
 Lord, what kind of child is this?

Pat Parker delivers huge themes in her four-stanza poem about her lover!

Heart-breaking and honest, Parker pulls you into the plight of the LGBTQA+ community and gives you just a glimpse of what it must be like to live a life in turmoil.

Is it considered a drought, if I'm thirsty for you?

Cascading angel who freely falls soft to rocks

Being that you are the only possible remedy for my parched lips...

Mother of all waters,
 I keep praying for you, safety through the devils mountain.
 purest and clairsentiant like crystals one scrys into for answers.
 playing and bending light several which ways to entertain me.

Famine and debris am I,
 to savor your dew would bring me rapture

Cascading goddess who falls with little to no fear

Not even a stream was I,
 but I drew in your mist, hoarding it till I became prosperous

Oasis that you are,
 much like a water sage to the mirage of my soul

You erode me and shape me like mud and clay.

 You're limitless as a moist well, peaking on infinity.
 Oh, my tongue swells for your never ending glory.

Cast out of Heaven, you are all for me.

- Angel falls by MP. Hill -

Whatever happens with us, your body
 will haunt mine - tender, delicate
 your lovemaking, like the half-curled frond
 of the fiddlehead fern in forests
 just washed by sun.

Your traveled, generous thighs
 between which my whole face has come and come -
 the innocence and wisdom of the place my tongue has found there -
 the live, insatiate dance of your nipples in my mouth -
 your touch on me, firm, protective, searching
 me out, your strong tongue and slender fingers
 reaching where I had been waiting years for you
 in my rose-wet cave - whatever happens, this is.

And our final choice:

Even though not written by a woman, this poem by M.R. Burch is short, straight-to-the-point and does fantastic job of boosting a woman’s self-confidence and cherishes the beauty of every woman!

Your breasts are perfect for your lithe, slender body.
 Please stop making false comparisons your hobby!

Are you interested in more steamy poetry?

Then check out our selection of the greatest Erotic Poems of all time.

And believe us: even though those poems are not "strictly" about lesbian love, they all celebrate the importance and beauty of love and lust in life!

And do you know that we here at Filthybooks love not only lesbian poetry but steamy lesbian literature in all its forms. So why not head over and check out our selection of the Best Erotic Lesbian Romance Novels or our free Erotic Lesbian Short Story!