Breasts
My eyes, hands mouth caress each supple breast.
I have no choice, but to admit I have become obsessed.
Even when I imagine them, my breathing will increase.
My desire is that this fire will never, ever cease.
In my dreams I fondle and kiss each loving nipple firm,
As I watch my lover convulse, twist and squirm
Till senses scream as nerves become unfurled.
Passions reign as tensions drain from this tense world.
There’s nothing more beautiful than a woman’s breast.
I thank the stars above that I have been blessed
With excitement that this feminity displays.
Luscious breasts that leave me breathless all my days.
poem by Gregory Huyette
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Related quotes
A Woman's Nipple
a woman's breast is exposed
the nipple, pinkish and firm like a pointillist finger
looks over the window of the dress, innocent and
wondering, what the world out there is all about
why it is hidden? it is desire - why is it suppressed?
the eyes of the woman with long curly and soft
hair are so inviting, it says welcome, we have been here
before you came, we have been searching for you
for you are lost, like a ship without an anchor in the sea
of love, in the storms of your lust, in the calmness after
an outburst of desire, -why do you come with shyness?
the nipple smiles, and remembers how is it to be sucked
till it brings forth milk for all thirsty babies of this world
men who miss life, men who love to live because the
pink nipple is hungry for their hands, because the eyes of
the woman are always inviting, because love is still a
possibility, because lust is its initiative, because death is
imposed by the system, that refuses to understand and give.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Passion of a Woman
A woman’s passion is easy to understand
The usual silence is her overwhelming
Yes,
It is her no that is consuming her really
A no to a kiss
A no to a hug
A no to a holding of her hand
A no to the fondle of her plump breast
A monster eating her
Longings and whims
Her desire
To spread to love against the skies
She will tell you
And she means it
She will kiss you with a
Spider’s kiss
Her hug would mean your surrender
And when she holds your hand she
Says there will be no stopping
There will be no excuses
There will be no reservation anymore
And when you fondle her breasts
She will rub your muscled chest
Her manner of hitting back
She would kill you if you would not
Go down under
And dig deeper
To her soul
Her fragility
Her unique nuances
Her calling sounds
Her moaning
Her way of loving you
A manner of reciprocating
Your advances
She is true too
In thoughts and in deeds
For what God has joined together
Let the man go further under.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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33
A woman’s passion is easy to understand
The usual silence is her overwhelming
Yes,
It is her no that is consuming her really
A no to a kiss
A no to a hug
A no to a holding of her hand
A no to the fondle of her plump breast
A monster eating her
Longings and whims
Her desire
To spread to love against the skies
She will tell you
And she means it
She will kiss you with a
Spider’s kiss
Her hug would mean your surrender
And when she holds your hand she
Says there will be no stopping
There will be no excuses
There will be no reservation anymore
And when you fondle her breasts
She will rub your muscled chest
Her manner of hitting back
She would kill you if you would not
Go down under
And dig deeper
To her soul
Her fragility
Her unique nuances
Her calling sounds
Her moaning
Her way of loving you
A manner of reciprocating
Your advances
She is true too
In thoughts and in deeds
For what God has joined together
Let the man go further under.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Kiss and make love
Touching lips like a butterfly
Gentle caress, gentle embrace
An endearment lifetime long
Brush the breast like a butterfly
Cuddle so softly with embrace
Endearment felt with a hug
Kiss and snuggle slowly done
Stroke to caress to embrace
Bear hug and brushing lips
Feel and fondle, rub hips
Graze and handle with care
Massage neck and nuzzle
Play around, squeeze, stroke
Hug and kiss, make love
Caress, curl up and enfold
Fondle, huddle and hug
Kiss with love and nestle
Nuzzle snug and soft to touch
Stroking, tasting, touching
Shy away for a moment
Feeling, caressing, fondling
Come together and massage
Brush and caress, collision
Cuddling with a loving touch
poem by Char Pattrick
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The fruits on the table
I love the papayas
Spread on the table
Reddish orange papayas
Plump and Smooth to my
Hands
And some purple grapes
Sweet pulp
Luscious to my
Lips
Some rambutans
Hairy fruits in red
Tickling to my
Fingers
Pungent durian
Tasting like
Heaven to
My mind
They are all spread on
The table
And I would caress smooth
Reddish papayas with
My bare hands
Put a grape in my mouth
And my tongue
Does the savoring of
Juicy rambutans
My lips close in
To a juicy roundness
As I breathe on some
Red hairs
Of this magical luscious fruit
The durian is opened
And the taste of heaven
Comes to my mind
With eyes closed as
Though I own all the passions
Of this world
When we were young and
Crazy about ourselves
I laid her on the table
And spread herself there
She was all those kinds of
Fruits to me and I was the
Hands, the mouth, the lips,
The tongue
The stomach that swallowed her all
Every bit that was juicy
Every freshness every plumpness
She was all fruits to me
She was all nature giving in, all over
To the passions of this fruit lover.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Lonely Tear
I close my eyes and you are there
As you stand in front of me
I reach out my hand to hold you
As you have set my soul and mind free
You then give me a smile and then a kiss
And now my heart and soul is on fire
I tremble and shake with thoughts only of you
My heart is full of want and your desire.
You then close your eyes and walk towards me
We then kiss with both passion and need
You gave me what I want I gave you what you have
To each other our passions we will feed.
You then step away to show me who you are
I ravish you with my hands and eyes
I then caress your breasts and touch your lips
Once again I am a man deep inside.
You turn around just one more time
To prove to me that your the woman for me
I take a deep breath it explodes in my soul
My soul and mind of all other women is free.
You take me by the hand and lead me to our bed
We lay down together with you at my side
Your head is on my chest and my hands in your hair
My passion for you for this night I will not hide.
You then make me a man I can barely stand
I look at you as you are covered with silk and lace
We then kiss again you’re my lover and friend
As I can see the pleasure upon your face.
I open my eyes and now you are gone
And sadly it was a dream you are no longer here
I now forget the passion and the words I had spoke
Now I walk away alone, with one lonely tear.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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Lumpy Lumps-Mary and John
He presses his hand
on my breast
and increases the pressure
exploring
moving slowing
rotating his finger tips
to that adjacency
where index finger
takes a turn
on my gentle breast rise
and probes
the gentle probe
which mixes
exigency,
and anxiety.
'Do you feel a lump I said'
'No nothing yet' he says.
He strokes with his finger tip
across the mounting rise
centering on the nipple tip
pressing down
breast deep
centering with
smooth
rollings
and I say
'Do you feel anything'
'Nothing yet'
Beneath both
he presses
slowly up
till
there he says he feels I small bumps
which I say are glands
not growths.
Every week he feels my breasts
to see if lumpy lumps
have appeared.
We both share
this tense time
mixed
with intimacy.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Troy Town
HEAVENBORN Helen, Sparta's queen,
(O Troy Town!)
Had two breasts of heavenly sheen,
The sun and moon of the heart's desire:
All Love's lordship lay between.
(O Troy's down,
Tall Troy's on fire!)
Helen knelt at Venus' shrine,
(O Troy Town!)
Saying, “A little gift is mine,
A little gift for a heart's desire.
Hear me speak and make me a sign!
(O Troy's down,
Tall Troy's on fire!)
“Look, I bring thee a carven cup;
(O Troy Town!)
See it here as I hold it up,—
Shaped it is to the heart's desire,
Fit to fill when the gods would sup.
(O Troy's down,
Tall Troy's on fire!)
“It was moulded like my breast;
(O Troy Town!)
He that sees it may not rest,
Rest at all for his heart's desire.
O give ear to my heart's behest!
(O Troy's down,
Tall Troy's on fire!)
“See my breast, how like it is;
(O Troy Town!)
See it bare for the air to kiss!
Is the cup to thy heart's desire?
O for the breast, O make it his!
(O Troy's down,
Tall Troy's on fire!)
“Yea, for my bosom here I sue;
(O Troy Town!)
Thou must give it where 'tis due,
Give it there to the heart's desire.
Whom do I give my bosom to?
(O Troy's down,
Tall Troy's on fire!)
“Each twin breast is an apple sweet.
(O Troy Town!)
Once an apple stirred the beat
Of thy heart with the heart's desire:—
Say, who brought it then to thy feet?
(O Troy's down,
Tall Troy's on fire!)
“They that claimed it then were three:
(O Troy Town!)
For thy sake two hearts did he
Make forlorn of the heart's desire.
Do for him as he did for thee!
(O Troy's down,
Tall Troy's on fire!)
“Mine are apples grown to the south,
(O Troy Town!)
Grown to taste in the days of drouth,
Taste and waste to the heart's desire:
Mine are apples meet for his mouth.”
(O Troy's down,
Tall Troy's on fire!)
Venus looked on Helen's gift,
(O Troy Town!)
Looked and smiled with subtle drift,
Saw the work of her heart's desire:—
“There thou kneel'st for Love to lift!”
(O Troy's down,
Tall Troy's on fire!)
Venus looked in Helen's face,
(O Troy Town!)
Knew far off an hour and place,
And fire lit from the heart's desire;
Laughed and said, “Thy gift hath grace!”
(O Troy's down,
Tall Troy's on fire!)
Cupid looked on Helen's breast,
(O Troy Town!)
Saw the heart within its nest,
Saw the flame of the heart's desire,—
Marked his arrow's burning crest.
(O Troy's down,
Tall Troy's on fire!)
Cupid took another dart,
(O Troy Town!)
Fledged it for another heart,
Winged the shaft with the heart's desire,
Drew the string and said, “Depart!”
(O Troy's down,
Tall Troy's on fire!)
Paris turned upon his bed,
(O Troy Town!)
Turned upon his bed and said,
Dead at heart with the heart's desire—
“Oh to clasp her golden head!”
(O Troy's down,
Tall Troy's on fire!)
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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Your smile is like a negligee
Your smile is like a negligee
where it sparkles naughty right into your eyes
and it’s as if I see my own defencelessness
and every nipple of your firm breasts
your thighs and flat stomach
in them.
Maybe there’s something deeper
smouldering in your eyes
while they tease me
and I do not have to imagine
that a angel
shares my bed.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Relying On Feelings
tonight sleep is cruel.
she does not come to you and you go anywhere searching for her
breasts, you are a new born child wanting to suck the milk of life
from her teats, and you want to take her like she is a sow,
and your hands are ready to caress her hair
and her soft body but she is cruel and so insensitive
and despite your endearments so she may sleep with you
tonight
she keeps that cruelty of a lover long
jilted by you.
tonight sleep takes its vengeance.
and so
you have to compose the lines again
to appease her.
speak of love, write about lovers
making love beside the sea
under the moon above the softness of the sands
tell sleep about love on top of love
caress sliding like a spill of honey to the lips of
the beloved
the tongue wriggles in such sweetness
the mouth opens and takes
every dripping desire
plead sincerity and beg for mercy.
perhaps, by then, sleep would be too kind to kiss your mouth
and gift you with a bouquet of sweet roses for dreams.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Love
What's wrong with you, with us,
what's happening to us?
Ah our love is a harsh cord
that binds us wounding us
and if we want
to leave our wound,
to separate,
it makes a new knot for us and condemns us
to drain our blood and burn together.
What's wrong with you? I look at you
and I find nothing in you but two eyes
like all eyes, a mouth
lost among a thousand mouths that I have kissed, more beautiful,
a body just like those that have slipped
beneath my body without leaving any memory.
And how empty you went through the world
like a wheat-colored jar
without air, without sound, without substance!
I vainly sought in you
depth for my arms
that dig, without cease, beneath the earth:
beneath your skin, beneath your eyes,
nothing,
beneath your double breast scarcely
raised
a current of crystalline order
that does not know why it flows singing.
Why, why, why,
my love, why?
poem by Pablo Neruda
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Dead Men's Love
There was a damned successful Poet;
There was a Woman like the Sun.
And they were dead. They did not know it.
They did not know their time was done.
They did not know his hymns
Were silence; and her limbs,
That had served Love so well,
Dust, and a filthy smell.
And so one day, as ever of old,
Hands out, they hurried, knee to knee;
On fire to cling and kiss and hold
And, in the other's eyes, to see
Each his own tiny face,
And in that long embrace
Feel lip and breast grow warm
To breast and lip and arm.
So knee to knee they sped again,
And laugh to laugh they ran, I'm told,
Across the streets of Hell . . .
And then
They suddenly felt the wind blow cold,
And knew, so closely pressed,
Chill air on lip and breast,
And, with a sick surprise,
The emptiness of eyes.
poem by Rupert Brooke (1911)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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In You The Earth
Little
rose,
roselet,
at times,
tiny and naked,
it seems
as though you would fit
in one of my hands,
as though I’ll clasp you like this
and carry you to my mouth,
but
suddenly
my feet touch your feet and my mouth your lips:
you have grown,
your shoulders rise like two hills,
your breasts wander over my breast,
my arm scarcely manages to encircle the thin
new-moon line of your waist:
in love you loosened yourself like sea water:
I can scarcely measure the sky’s most spacious eyes
and I lean down to your mouth to kiss the earth.
poem by Pablo Neruda
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Fingers
In that photo of yours
I saw you –
Your face, your shoulders,
Your hands, and then
Your fingers…
My lips quivered
So did my hands
And I felt like touching you,
With my quivering lips
And unsure hands,
Those very beautiful
Exquisite fingers…
Reading your poems of love
And pondering over your letters…
Sometimes I imagine
You writing to me
With those very same
Slender and artistic
Adept fingers…
Very often I feel
And wonder…
If your fingers
Ever do ache
Writing so long,
So nice,
And so very endless,
Day after day…
And if they do, my Love
I feel like pampering them
With tender, loving care
A kiss here, a kiss there…
Holding them,
Caressing them,
Sucking them slow…
Your fingers in my mouth
Taking turns to go
One by one,
I feel them,
Nibble them,
Suckle them,
Make love to them,
Within the deep recesses
Of my oral crevice…
Till they feel pampered
And satiated
And I feel the same too…
Contented and happy
Making love to you
With your fingers
In my mouth…
A wonderful tryst
Of love and lust,
Warmth and arousal,
And then if you wish…
And if I'm also willing,
We can play this game
All night long…
Where you don’t win
And I don’t lose
We both win over together
And lose ourselves
To each other…
I give free rein to
Your fingers…
To touch, feel
And explore
The inner crevices
And every pore
Of my body…
The mouth has had its turn
Now, do you wish to go
Further down..?
And see how it feels
To caress my breasts,
My derriere and my
Yoni,
With those seeking,
Exploring fingers of yours…
You’ve penned a lot of poetry
And your letters intoxicate me…
How about writing
Some letters of love
And a few lines of love ballads
On the spaces and margins
Of my body…
Dipping your fingers,
And drinking into
The juice of my
Dripping Yoni…
poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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You say that love like ours is eternal
You say that love
like ours is eternal
and I wonder how
to let moments stand still,
as if they never can pass on.
You embrace me with fire in every kiss,
with a look in your eyes
that does magical things to me.
You tell me that now
for the first time
you know that you are living
and I feel the pulse beat in your breast
under my fingers
while your nipple gets hard
and your bright blue eyes
are exceptionally beautiful
while you throw your blonde locks
with a movement
back over your shoulder.
When you walk away,
leaving a picture for my eyes,
your perfume still stays with me
and I know how happy I really am
but a few hours later
your are forever gone
and the decision
has been taken by destiny for you
and the angel of death
keeps avoiding me.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Kiss Of Life
See me a big woman, big woman look how you dance
See me a big woman, big woman caught in a trance
Dancing on the tabletop, covered up with the easter feast
Youre dancing for the fishermen, from the very large right
To the least
Dancing for the slow release, first the boy and then the beast
Then the beast
Burning, buring with the kiss of life
Burning, buring with the kiss of life
See me, a big woman, big woman so full of life
See me, a big woman, big woman going to be my wife
Watching for the different eyes - they change your face -
They come inside
Watch the spirits laugh and cry, watch them find a place
To hide
Watch the spirits talk in tongues, watch them take you for
A ride
Down at the ocean lies a body in the sand
Big woman sits beside, head in hand
With heat from her skin, and fire from her breath
She blows hard, she slows deep in the mouth of death
Burning, burning with the kiss of life
Burning, burning with the kiss of life
Burning, burning with the kiss of life
song performed by by Peter Gabriel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet VI: The Kiss
What smouldering senses in death's sick delay
Or seizure of malign vicissitude
Can rob this body of honour, or denude
This soul of wedding-raiment worn to-day?
For lo! even now my lady's lips did play
With these my lips such consonant interlude
As laurelled Orpheus longed for when he wooed
The half-drawn hungering face with that last lay.
I was a child beneath her touch,—a man
When breast to breast we clung, even I and she,—
A spirit when her spirit looked through me,—
A god when all our life-breath met to fan
Our life-blood, till love's emulous ardours ran,
Fire within fire, desire in deity.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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The Kiss
What smouldering senses in death's sick delay
Or seizure of malign vicissitude
Can rob this body of honour, or denude
This soul of wedding-raiment worn to-day?
For lo! even now my lady's lips did play
With these my lips such consonant interlude
As laurelled Orpheus longed for when he wooed
The half-drawn hungering face with that last lay.
I was a child beneath her touch, -- a man
When breast to breast we clung, even I and she, --
A spirit when her spirit looked through me, --
A god when all our life-breath met to fan
Our life-blood, till love's emulous ardours ran,
Fire within fire, desire in deity.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The House of the Life: The Kiss
What smouldering senses in death's sick delay
Or seizure of malign vicissitude
Can rob this body of honour, or denude
This soul of wedding-raiment worn to-day?
For lo! even now my lady's lips did play
With these my lips such consonant interlude
As laurelled Orpheus longed for when he wooed
The half-drawn hungering face with that last lay.
I was a child beneath her touch, -- a man
When breast to breast we clung, even I and she, --
A spirit when her spirit looked through me, --
A god when all our life-breath met to fan
Our life-blood, till love's emulous ardours ran,
Fire within fire, desire in deity.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Virgin Youth
Now and again
All my body springs alive,
And the life that is polarised in my eyes,
That quivers between my eyes and mouth,
Flies like a wild thing across my body,
Leaving my eyes half-empty, and clamorous,
Filling my still breasts with a flush and a flame,
Gathering the soft ripples below my breast
Into urgent, passionate waves,
And my soft, slumbering belly
Quivering awake with one impulse of desire,
Gathers itself fiercely together;
And my docile, fluent arms
Knotting themselves with wild strength
To clasp—what they have never clasped.
Then I tremble, and go trembling
Under the wild, strange tyranny of my body,
Till it has spent itself,
And the relentless nodality of my eyes reasserts itself,
Till the bursten flood of life ebbs back to my eyes,
Back from my beautiful, lonely body
Tired and unsatisfied.
poem by David Herbert Lawrence
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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