30 Erotic Poems which can super-charge your Love Life
Updated: Mar 30
Do you think Erotic Poems just sound like the cheesiest thing ever?
Yes, they can, but trust me: They have a huge intrinsic value.
Let me convince you.
I promise: if you give them a go, you will be positively surprised. Read them for yourself as stress relief or to invigorate your imagination.
Erotic Poetry author David Russel even states, that “sensual poems with elements of drama and suspense have rejuvenating effect on a reader’s mind and heart. Erotic Poems are enabling me to feel positive and vitalised in the face of much adversity.”
The first time we made love I realized why I never prayed. One human can only say Oh God so many times.
- “The Atheist” by Megan Falley -
Plus, I want to share with you a special tip:
They can do true miracles, whether you’re trying to spice up the romance with your partner or ignite a flame with a date (similar like Dirty Quotes do). Or wouldn’t you agree that a Sensual or even Dirty Poem has a higher chance to get your object of desire heated up than a “What are U doing” text message with Emoji?
Therefore: we teamed up with Erotic Poetry and Romance author David Russel and curated 30 hot and sexy poems with the potential to super-charge your love life!
And that’s not all: if you’re then not satisfied, we suggest you 7 exceptionally great Erotic Poem Collections which provide a plethora of inspiration!
Last but not least you can also find out more about the works of David Russel.
So to say: keep this page under your favourites and you will be never short a sensual inspiration when you need it.
No matter if you’re looking for Erotic, Dirty, Sensual or just Love Poems.
The key to launching a new level in your sensual life starts here! Check out these great Make Love Poems:
#1 “Untitled” by Mason Fowler
She was heaven and she was hell. And when she was finished, he would lay in bed, breathless, waiting to get the feeling back in his legs.
#2 "The Platonic Blow" by Wystan Hugh Auden
We aligned mouths. We entwined. All act was clutch, All fact contact, the attack and the interlock Of tongues, the charms of arms. I shook at the touch Of his fresh flesh, I rocked at the shock of his cock. Straddling my legs a little I inserted his divine Person between and closed on it tight as I could. The upright warmth of his belly lay all along mine. Nude, glued together for a minute, we stood.
#3 "xvii” by E.E. Cummings
Lady, i will touch you with my mind.
Touch you and touch and touch until you give me suddenly a smile, shyly obscene.
#4 “After the Witch Hunt” by Megan Falley
The first time we made love I realized why I never prayed.
One human can only say ‘Oh God’ so many times.
#5 "Bitter Sweet Love” by Michael Faudet
My heart has become a broken compass.
Every time I try to leave you,
I always find myself running back into your arms.
#6 "Make War, Not Love” by Andrew Noske
Graze your fingers against my skin like a soldier crossing a landmine throw your kisses like grenades into the trenches of my mouth carve bullet holes onto my chest and remind me of where it hurts let your moans sound like gunfire and your breath feel like death I'll come unarmed if you promise to destroy me make war not love?
#7 "Late Afternoon” by Molly Fish
Carry me down into that liquid place again where we meet without talking, even though sometimes we're talking, where we laugh without making a sound, the punchlines floating off untethered and the corners of your mouth tilting up like commas around some beautiful phrase we don't have to try to remember. Wedge your knee between my thighs and slip your fingers into me again, let them be glazed with human light and lift them to your lips, let them tell you what they found. I'll kneel before the sunset of your skin, its pale tone beginning to blush, evenly, every cell inspired to read, pushing toward that ruddiness of purpose, that sigh. My hands will wrap around the tendons of your wrists to hold you here, lowered over me like clouds before a storm, the enormous thunder and then the rain.
#8 "Every Day You Play” by Pablo Neruda
You are here. Oh, you do not run away. You will answer me to the last cry. Curl round me as though you were frightened. Even so, a strange shadow once ran through your eyes. Now, now too, little one, you bring me honeysuckle, and even your breasts smell of it. While the sad wind goes slaughtering butterflies. I love you, and my happiness bites the plum of your mouth. How you must have suffered getting accustomed to me, my savage, solitary soul, my name that sends them all running. So many times we have seen the morning star burn, kissing our eyes, and over our heads the gray light unwind in turning fans. My words rained over you, stroking you. A long time I have loved the sunned mother-of-pearl of your body. I go so far as to think that you own the universe. I will bring you happy flowers from the mountains, bluebells, dark hazels, and rustic baskets of kisses. I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.”
#9 "The Shower” by Charles Bukowski
we like to shower afterwards (I like the water hotter than she) and her face is always soft and peaceful and she'll wash me first spread the soap over my balls lift the balls squeeze them, then wash the cock: "hey, this thing is still hard!" then get all the hair down there,- the belly, the back, the neck, the legs, I grin grin grin, and then I wash her. . . first the cunt, I stand behind her, my cock in the cheeks of her ass I gently soap up the cunt hairs, wash there with a soothing motion, I linger perhaps longer than necessary, then I get the backs of the legs, the ass, the back, the neck, I turn her, kiss her, soap up the breasts, get them and the belly, the neck, the fronts of the legs, the ankles, the feet, and then the cunt, once more, for luck. . . another kiss, and she gets out first, toweling, sometimes singing while I stay in turn the water on hotter feeling the good times of love's miracle I then get out. . . it is usually mid-afternoon and quiet, and getting dressed we talk about what else there might be to do, but being together solves most of it for as long as those things stay solved in the history of women and man, it's different for each- for me, it's splendid enough to remember past the memories of pain and defeat and unhappiness: when you take it away do it slowly and easily make it as if I were dying in my sleep
instead of in my life, amen.
#10 "Wild Nights” by Emily Dickinson
Wild nights - Wild nights! Were I with thee Wild nights should be Our luxury! Futile - the winds - To a Heart in port - Done with the Compass - Done with the Chart! Rowing in Eden - Ah - the Sea! Might I but moor - tonight - In thee!
#11"Described" by Wendy Maltz
I am in the most exquisite distress astride you now, sweating feeling an impetuous volcano strain at its peak inside wanting to explode my sweetest self all over you.
#12 "The Floating Poem, Unnumbered” by Adrienne Rich
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.
#13 "Basket of Figs" by Ellen Bass
Bring me your pain, love. Spread
it out like fine rugs, silk sashes,
the detail, the intricate embroidery on the collar, tiny shell buttons, the hemstitched the way you were taught, pricking just a thread, almost invisible.
Unclasp it like jewels, the gold still hot from your body. Empty your basket of figs. Spill your wine.
That hard nugget of pain, I would suck it, cradling it on my tongue like the slick seed of pomegranate. I would lift it
tenderly, as a great animal might carry a small one in the private cave of the mouth.
#14 “The Encounter” by Louise Gluck
You came to the side of the bed and sat staring at me. Then you kissed me - I felt hot wax on my forehead. I wanted it to leave a mark: that’s how I knew I loved you. Because I wanted to be burned, stamped, to have something in the end - I drew the gown over my head; a red flush covered my face and shoulders. It will run its course, the course of fire, setting a cold coin on the forehead, between the eyes. You lay beside me; your hand moved over my face as though you had felt it also - you must have known, then, how I wanted you. We will always know that, you and I. The proof will be my body.
#15 “to a Dark Moses” by Lucille Clifton
You are the one I am lit for. Come with your rod that twists and is a serpent. I am the bush. I am burning I am not consumed.
#16 “Come Slowly, Eden” by Emily Dickinson
Come slowly - Eden Lips unused to thee - Bashful - sip thy jasmines - As the fainting bee - Reaching late his flower, Round her chamber hums - Counts his nectars - alights - And is lost in balms!
#17 “Teach me” by Michael Faudet
Such pretty things
You said to me -
For I am yours
To take tonight
Upon this forest floor.
Let’s make a bed
In autumn leaves,
And leave no leaf unturned.
Beneath these trees
Please teach me,
To learn a love unlearned
#18 "Erotica” by S.T.P.
I made love to her on paper. and spilled ink like passion across the sheets. I caressed her curves in every love letter. I kissed up and down her thighs in short sentences and prose. I tasted all her innocence, without a spoken word. I bit her lip and pulled her hair, in between the lines. I made her arch her back and scream, it only took a pen.
#19 "Erotic Energy" by Chase Twichell
Don't tell me we're not like plants, sending out a shoot when we need to, or spikes, poisonous oils, or flowers.
Come to me but only when I say, that's how plants announce
the rules of propagation. Even children know this. You can see them imitating all the moves
with their bright plastic toys.
So that, years later, at the moment
the girl's body finally says yes to the end of childhood, a green pail with an orange shovel
will appear in her mind like a tropical blossom she has never seen before.
#20 “Seduction” by David Russel
He, muscles taut, off springboard thrust
Resilient in buoyancy, Slow sweep to surface, breathe.
She, lithe, with back-stroke rippling,
Firm breasts cresting mild waves, Thighs, ankles, near-straight, undulating, Her back held spirit level, Plane ideal Eyes closed and face serene in sensual thrall. All there was foretaste, nuance, All chaste - the changing rooms demure. Warm evening’s loose allure drew both To unintended rendezvous, A mutual friend’s, both wished to stay away. The place had room enough;
their glances met - Under two spells,
all garments turned diaphanous; Morning's disrobing kindled thoughts, Fed impulses, hands touched. One soft-shut door the cue; Now lips met eyelids, cheeks, each other, clinched. Her hand pressed on his crown, massaged Through long-held breath; Tongues, lips were coiled, half-melted; Squeeze of waist, they sank To tender press of thigh, of hips, Drew back face to face, eyes’ pools immersed: “You’re fleshed just right; a young girl's form; Would you undress?” “I saw you in your trunks; you're lovely; stay with me.” Brief promenade, waists linked again, Fast heartbeats deepened footsteps with suspense; A whispered, tiptoed entry. Pause for bathroom, care assuaged; Last clothed embrace.
Ready the quivering ritual! Each other answering, Matching that morning's graceful bathing strokes Each touch of shedding nurturing the fires, Each pull of buckle, lace, so lissom In counterpoint with one soft lamp.
Aglow, with ardent youth restored, Deep torso, shapely limbs Emerge as sunrise, sunbathed, fresh; Full muscles toned by swimming’s lathe, Crescendo's throbbing, Two beauties, one revealing, Beholder and Beheld!
She, supple, haunches swung, Tights loosened,
Down wardrobe obstacles!
He seized waistband elastic, swept To open freedom, took the hand That edged towards her bosom, up her arms To ratify surrender, clip; asunder, The final black cascade.
Flesh, bone and muscle interlocked Shoulder to shoulder raised, clutched, Borne to couch; Breasts, armpits, cupped caress Of tender skin over those thrusting orbs.
Now passion’s tide makes each wave overlap; Slow motion’s generation; Two sighs, one lunge, a soft rotation; Slowing, near-stop; resume, deepening breath Floating four full diminuendos.
A moment of near sleep; Sure premonition of fulfilment; Now second wind’s tornado Sweeps through exhaustion's trough With power of ether’s depth beyond their bodies; The sluicegates yield; one mighty flood In fusion melts volcanoes!
Brief satiation’s lull, unveiling heavens; With dawn’s beams, morning replay, Enhanced in fulness; Two strengths, by first flames tempered, With delicacy pure plumbed ocean's beds. On dressing gowns, warm-robed, unrobed again To plunge into the other end Of water’s hot communion, splashing laughter.
A placid walk through petalled glades, More smiles, more kisses; Then wistful looks, and hints of jealousies, And thoughts, as if to say “Let’s not detract from this perfection”.
Are you now convinced of Erotic Poetry? Do you need more?
Check out the next ten sexy poems or head directly to the best Erotic Poem Collections!
#21 “Putting in the Seed” by Robert Frost
You come to fetch me from my work tonight When supper’s on the table, and we’ll see If I can leave off burying the white Soft petals fallen from the apple tree (Soft petals, yes, but not so barren quite, Mingled with these, smooth bean and wrinkled pea;) And go along with you ere you lose sight, Of what you came for and become like me, Slave to a springtime passion for the earth. How Love burns through the Putting in the Seed On through the watching for that early birth When, just as the soil tarnishes with weed, The sturdy seedling with arched body comes Shouldering its way and shedding the earth crumbs.
#22 “The Atheist” by Megan Falley
The first time we made love I realized why I never prayed. One human can only say Oh God so many times.
#23 “The Atheist” by Megan Falley
We lay in bed in a heap of sweaty love until the curtains stop holding the sun and light shines on two naked bodies that were strangers the night before, but young lust runs deeper than expected and sometimes a sinner meets another, and a secret is hatched that only a look into the eyes can tell.
#24 “Love and Sleep” by Algernon Charles Swinburne
Lying asleep between the strokes of night
And all her face was honey to my mouth, And all her body pasture to mine eyes; The long lithe arms and hotter hands than fire, The quivering flanks, hair smelling of the south, The bright light feet, the splendid supple thighs And glittering eyelids of my soul’s desire.
#25 Body Remember" by Constantine Cavafy
Body, remember not only how much you were loved, not only the beds on which you lay, but also those desires for you that glowed plainly in the eyes, and trembled in the voice - and some chance obstacle made futile. Now that all of them belong to the past, it almost seems as if you had yielded to those desires - how they glowed, remember, in the eyes gazing at you; how they trembled in the voice, for you, remember, body.
#26 "Wild Sensual Poems" by Molly Fisk
Carry me down into that liquid place again where we meet without talking, even though sometimes we’re talking, where we laugh without making a sound, the punchlines floating off untethered and the corners of your mouth tilting up like commas around some beautiful phrase we don't have to try to remember. Wedge your knee between my thighs and slip your fingers into me again, let them be glazed with human light and lift them to your lips, let them tell you what they found. I’ll kneel before the sunset of your skin, its pale tone beginning to blush, evenly, every cell inspired to read, pushing toward that ruddiness of purpose, that sigh. My hands will wrap around the tendons of your wrists to hold you here, lowered over me like clouds before a storm, the enormous thunder and then the rain.
#27 “To His Mistress Going to Bed” by John Donne
Unpin that spangled breastplate which you wear,
That th’eyes of busy fools may be stopped there.
Unlace yourself, for that harmonious chime,
Tells me from you, that now it is bed time.
Off with that happy busk, which I envy,
That still can be, and still can stand so nigh.
Your gown going off, such beauteous state reveals,
As when from flowery meads th’hill’s shadow steals.
Off with that wiry Coronet and shew
The hairy Diadem which on you doth grow:
Now off with those shoes, and then safely tread
In this love’s hallow’d temple, this soft bed.
In such white robes, heaven’s Angels used to be
Received by men; Thou Angel bringst with thee
A heaven like Mahomet’s Paradise; and though
Ill spirits walk in white, we easily know,
By this these Angels from an evil sprite,
Those set our hairs, but these our flesh upright.
Licence my roving hands, and let them go,
Before, behind, between, above, below.
O my America! my new-found-land,
My kingdom, safeliest when with one man mann’d,
My Mine of precious stones, My Empirie,
How blest am I in this discovering thee!
To enter in these bonds, is to be free;
Then where my hand is set, my seal shall be.
Full nakedness! All joys are due to thee, As souls unbodied, bodies uncloth’d must be, To taste whole joys. Gems which you women use Are like Atlanta’s balls, cast in men’s views, That when a fool’s eye lighteth on a Gem, His earthly soul may covet theirs, not them.
Like pictures, or like books’ gay coverings made
For lay-men, are all women thus array’d;
Themselves are mystic books, which only we
(Whom their imputed grace will dignify)
Must see reveal’d. Then since that I may know;
As liberally, as to a Midwife, shew
Thy self: cast all, yea, this white linen hence,
There is no penance due to innocence.
To teach thee, I am naked first; why then
What needst thou have more covering than a man
#28 “Seductress Divine” by Joy Sheridan
She wore only an expression of fatal illusions,
The power to capture and tear off at whim
Those moths which fluttered
Low, bright and light around her.
Memory served no purpose while in her presence,
For she would but lift her eyes and sweep them
Over the brow of lovers – fatal she was,
A darkened Madonna cut out of hall
Of black sighings.
Stop now, all who would have some fear
For themselves, for once over the threshold
Only a tear shall fall, and serve as a vaporous conclusion
In the manuals that are lodged in her halls.
Come close though, and we shall lift the curtains,
Peeping through, we shall mingle our eyes
With the candles that flicker – how heavy
The air is, soaked with longing, submerged with
That perfume despair – see there a chair
Which seems a monument to those who did cross
The threshold, there waited for seeming eternities -
Mere seconds they were.
Then along the corridor they were taken
Into the chamber that served as her throne-room -
Whilst she, a vast, undefinable substance, was hid
Behind a cloud of incense -
See how her eyes smart, how quick is the heart,
How trembling the limbs.
There is no sunlight here,
Only fear makes a star appear on the furthermost wall,
Whispering voices and gently persuasive hands.
Suddenly, behind you, you know that she stands,
Her hand soft as a gentle death,
She wears violets on her breast.
You do not turn, only look in the mirror and see her.
Then, above the turn of your collar
Two, three fingers appear, and lift away
Your garments slowly, like a daffodil unsheathed
Until you stand naked, with only
Your beating heart to make movement.
Soon, across a lake of fur you are led:
These same hands take yours and pull you
Towards towards, ah - what Towards!
Then upon, and inside, a tent of delicate furnishings
The loom of feeling is worked, the lute begins gently to sing -
Then you are found, shuttered at the break of day
On the edges of a wood, or hidden
Half-in and half-out of some doorway -
A rose by your side, seems less than you
Seems less than you to be alive.
Now see we, we are hidden and free,
Yet let us continue to watch these strangers
Who would try their lots, though every man
Is hand-picked, like the choicest fruit.
Now some come and some go - some are golden
In colour and lithe of limb, some tall and dark,
And very slim; some are bronzed the darkest red,
And some so pale they could almost be dead.
Yet one comes, who seems a creature
Formed from light itself, so fine the head
That gracefully moves, for he is born of the living
And not of the dead. See he stands -
A pearl-bright lightness makes a pool
Like mother-of-pearl; he looks at the rooms
And the furnishings - meditates upon its hell -
Not for him the whim of dark passion,
Nor the smell of incense which swims
Dark and dangerous through his limbs,
Nor the richness of the heavy twilight
Which is the colour of this place - eternally bright.
He would cast a shadow here, and it would burn
As the sun does at mid-day in a Mediterranean year.
See the messengers beckon him into the room:
He brings a gift encased in a shell – offers it before him –
Being a figurine that seems.
When you like "Seductress Divine", check out the answer poem by D. Russel - just read until the end of the article!
#29 “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.
#30 “Dirty Pretty Things” by Michael Faudet
She loved to spend rainy afternoons lost in thought, her hand daydreaming beneath the fabric of floral panties.
Not Enough? Still hungry for more Erotic Poems?
It is absolutely understandable that you still want some more - and also more fresh ideas what to read. Therefore, we also curated a list of 6 Erotic, Dirty and Love Poems Anthologies which give you a big fundus of high-quality poetry.
And of course: if you look for something really different, also have a look at the works of David Russel.
#1 E. E. Cummings Erotic Poems and Drawings, edited by George James Firmage
Editor George James Firmage curated from Cumming’s original manuscripts a great collection not only of the Erotic Poetry of E. E. Cummings, but also of his sensual and inspirational drawings and sketches.
In the poems of E. E. Cummings you can really feel that he loved women.
Reading many of the poems will automatically give every female reader a feeling of beauty. So, this collection exactly expresses what also David Russel loves about Sensual Poetry: they will help you to feel adorable, beloved and sexy.
Most of the poems herein are very sexy, but many are also fun, curious and playful. And because most of the poems are short, they’re comprehensible and accessible even to the not-so-seasoned reader of Erotic Poems. And even if you do not get the exact point of every poem: only reading them out loudly will give you a huge sensuality boost!
And trust me: buy this book and read it together with your partner. It will help you to express what you always wanted to say and never found the right words…
One important hint: This collection is not ideally formatted for Kindle readers. We therefore highly suggest that you invest in the hardcopy format for once. You won’t regret it even though new ones are with about 19.90$ a little more expensive. We think it would upgrade your bookshelf!
And there is always the possibility to get them significantly cheaper if you choose to buy a used book.
#2 With a Thousand Kisses: A Collection of Erotic Poetry and Art by Isabel King
Are you interested in an Erotic Poetry Collection which gives you the best of different centuries and, as a sexy add-on, illustrated eroticism?
Then, do not miss With a Thousand Kisses. It makes itself perfect in every bookshelf and is also a great idea as gift book.
The price point is very similar to Erotic Poems from E. E. Cummings and there is, as of now, only possible to buy it as hardcopy. However, it is worth every penny!
In this Anthology you find poets as John Donne, Pablo Neruda, Baudelaire, Lord Rochester, Yeats, E. E. Cummings to name just a few. And: you will find illustrations from Boucher, Rodin, Titian, Toulouse Lautrec … and many more.
Believe me: you don’t easily find such a beautiful collection of carefully curated art and poetry. You will find yourself just browsing through the pages and discovering something new every time.
Really, the perfect gift for someone special in your life; or of course for yourself!
#3 How the Body Works the Dark: New and Revised Poems by Derrick C. Brown
Another truly lovely body of work, this time curated by Derrick C. Brown.
This collections contains erotic, dark and funny poems from Richard Brautigan and Pablo Neruda.
You will be carried through a narrative arc through a relationship even though the poems can also stand alone. The work contains blending romance, weirdness and magic.
And most of the poems read like songs, are about love and depict a naked, lush, gorgeous and gritty rout through the character’s experience.
#4 The Pleasures of the Damned: Poems by Charles Bukowski
Together with Betting on the Muse my favourite collection of Charles Bukowski, « the hard-drinking wild man of literature who wrote unflinchingly about booze, work, and women”.
Make yourself ready for really raw, erotic, dirty poems!
Bukowski always wrote what he saw: true, honest, direct. In The Pleasures of the Damned you will find heart-wrecking poems about his dead love which will shake your soul.
However, some of the most citated poems are not included in The Pleasures of the Damned. Therefore, we almost have to suggest to you also Betting on the Muse.
Even though typical for Bukowski, a quality of Betting on the Muse is that the prose is just as good as the poetry. And you will get a good selection of both here.
Not only that, it is weaved together masterfully. Combine it with the capability to craft real and raw characters within just a couple of lines and you will end up finding yourself turning page after page.
#5 Passionate Hearts: The Poetry of Sexual Love by Wendy Maltz
A special Tip for all who want to super-charge a Romantic Relationship!
And it has never been so easy to do that: Just send or tell your lovely every day a new poem you find in Passionate Hearts.
You will find the right poem for every day and situation.
And if your selection is right, she (or he) of course, will just melt in your arms! Trust me.
Passionate Hearts is a great Collection of Sensual Poems by author and sex therapist Wendy Maltz.
You will find everything what makes an Erotic Poetry Anthology a must-have: emotional, intimate, sensual but accessible poetry. The poems are all relatively short but very well arranged around the topics like “Tender Awakenings”, “Passionate Pleasures”, “Deeper Intimacies” or “Graceful Transformations”.
This collection gives you an arrangement of poems from the excitement of new love to the experience of finding time for sex when you have a family and finally about the autumn of love. Or, poems for a typical journey and story of a relationship.
Do not expect all too specific and explicit language; but you can count on poems filled with mystery and beauty about the sensual side of love.
#6 Love from the Vortex & Other Poems by Sealey Ruiz
To be honest with you: Love from the Vortex (Kaleidoscope Vibrations, LLC) is not exactly a collection of Erotic and not at all of Dirty Poems.
But hell, it is a great anthology of poems about love, life and relationship.
It is the first full-length collection of poet and scholar-activist Yolanda Sealey-Ruiz. The collection is packed with poems about finding and losing love as Yolanda captures her own relationships with six different “exes” who came into her life in various times. Each set is distinct as each relationship is distinct.
So, it will make you laugh, cry, sigh, hate and cheer!
You will start learning and thinking about your own intentions and thoughts of romantic love and also, maybe most importantly, about the value of self-love. So even though the collection is not as Erotic as the others, it is for sure worth a deeper look.
#7 Sensual Rhapsody Erotic Poems and Artwork by David Russel
Sensual Rhapsody is a collection of poems about emotional and physical attraction.
The Erotic Poems are integrated into the running theme of beach and swimsuit atmosphere. Combined with the overall charm in writing of David, this Collection will keep you entertained throughout the whole book.
The combination of the non-rhythm style poems arranged in story form and beautifully accompanied by illustrations, most by the artist-poet, himself, gives you a voyeuristic nature to visual love on a not so secret beach.
So if you want to discover something new, something in a special setting and written by a very sensual writer, this short Collection of Sensual Poems is a great choice!
As promised: here's the answer to "Seductress Divine" - just for Filthybooks Readers!
You radiated alluring mirages
Spiced with innuendos of delicious doom,
Distilling all thoughts, all sensations
To moth-wing fragility,
Flanked with fireflies.
So long I trod my solitary path,
So desperate for my prompt, my cue –
At last that longed-for whisper!
I heed your bidding, freezing in my tracks
Knowing you know all about me
In deepest detail – surveillance celestial!
The curtains waft apart, caressed and pushed
By delicate hands; our eyebeams
Centrifugal, centripetal fusion,
Candles nodding to the fireflies,
Half-dark a back-cloth for eternity –
All sense of time elastic,
Shrunk to microseconds, inflated to zillennia
Footsteps with bated breath
Down that sacred corridor
Pressed in to the dark velvet of its carpet
To the phosphorescence of a mighty chamber
Suffused with a disembodied presence.
Straddling the sensory realm,
You blurred and melded
Long-term and short-term memory;
One beam of your eyes
Made an exhalation from the cosmic lung.
And then, in perfect harmony
Attuned to planets’ orbit symphony.
A fleshly form emerged,
Breathtaking in its tone.
Your words imperious:
“Come – you must be revealed!”
Each garment your deft hands unbuttoned,
Unzipped, thrust back, eased down, removed
Felt like a step of transmutation,
Into lovely form to match your own,
Our bodies completing
What our eyes had initiated.
Upon the bower of rapture,
You made me feel
That I had pleasured you
To the astral boundaries of your desires.
So melded, it seemed we’d long to radiate
Our bliss to all humanity;
Contracted from the cosmos,
We would refill it. Perhaps we did.
You bade me take my leave, Saying
“I’ve built you up, now you can face the world.”
So I retrace my path, invigorated
And on my way discern a fine Adonis form;
I sidestep so he will not see me on his path
I wish him well – all great minds think alike!
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