Once Upon A Time There Was Pleasure
when you were younger
oh, you remember the things that you've done
so much pleasure there
all over
your finger tips, your tongue,
your feet
pleasures reside in every mouth
lips
the giggle of the lone navel
the electricity in your
hair tips
the curve on the nape
the secrets of the thighs
you smile
over such memories
when you are alone
sipping coffee
one afternoon
upon a very cold day.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
Sweetest Sin
Can you imagine us,
Making love..
The way you would feel the first time that we touched,
Can you think of it..
The way I dream of it,
I want you to see like im seeing you..
It's a picture of perfection,
The vision of you and me..
Your lips upon my lips,
Can you just picture this..
Your finger tips on my finger tips,
Your skin upon my skin..
Would be the Sweetest Sin,
Would be the Sweetest Sin..
All night I lie awake,
Cause it's to much to take..
Dreamin' about the love that we could make..All day,
I think of scenes..
To get you next to me,
I want you so bad that I can barely breathe..
It's a sign of my obsession,
That I can't stop thinkin bout'
Your lips upon my lips,
Can you invision this..
Temptation that I could never resist,
Your skin upon my skin..
Would be the Sweetest Sin,
That would be the Sweetest Sin..
It would feel so good,
To be so bad..
You don't know how bad.. I want that,
I would do anything to feel your love..
Your lips upon my lips,
Can you just picture this..
Your finger tips on my finger tips,
Your skin upon my skin..
Would be the Sweetest Sin,
That Would be the Sweetest Sin..
Your lips upon my lips,
Can you invision this..
Temptation that I could never resist,
Your skin upon my skin..
Would be the Sweetest Sin,
Would be the Sweetest Sin..
Your lips upon my lips.. would be the Sweetest Sin
song performed by by Jessica Simpson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Key-Board
Five-and-thirty black slaves,
Half-a-hundred white,
All their duty but to sing
For their Queen's delight,
Now with throats of thunder,
Now with dulcet lips,
While she rules them royally
With her finger-tips!
When she quits her palace,
All the slaves are dumb-
Dumb with dolour till the Queen
Back to Court is come:
Dumb the throats of thunder,
Dumb the dulcet lips,
Lacking all the sovereignty
Of her finger-tips.
Dusky slaves and pallid,
Ebon slaves and white,
When the Queen was on her throne
How you sang to-night!
Ah, the throats of thunder!
Ah, the dulcet lips!
Ah, the gracious tyrannies
Of her finger-tips!
Silent, silent, silent,
All your voices now;
Was it then her life alone
Did your life endow?
Waken, throats of thunder!
Waken, dulcet lips!
Touched to immortality
By her finger-tips.
poem by William Watson
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I Can See You
In the
Corners
Of my
Eyes,
I can see
You
In the depths
Of my mind,
I can see you
In the halves
Of my heart,
I can see you
In the freckles
Of my face,
I can see you
At the touch
Of my lips -
I can see you
Down the nape
Of my neck -
I can see you
On the tips -
Of my bosom
I can see you
In the mesh,
Of my pubes
I can see you
In the curves,
Of my fingers
I can see you
In the embrace
Of my arms…
I can see you
In the sways
Of my hips ~
I can see you
From my thighs
To my knees,
From my legs
To my toes…
I can see
Only you
I've tangled you
In the tresses of my
Flowing hair
Every pore
Of my body
Breathes you
Yet you
Ask me
Dear,
Where in me,
Are you?
poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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Over My Shoulder
Shut your mouth, and watch my lips,
Can you feel her healing finger tips,
Coming down, on you like rain,
So tell me now where do we remain,
Over my shoulder it goes,
and where it lands, you don't want to know
I used to work, night and day,
Nobody listened to a word I'd say,
I didn't care who knew me then,
and someone stupid asked if we were friends, well,
Over my shoulder it goes,
Back to a bar, we both used to know.
Shut your mouth, and watch my lips,
Can you feel her healing finger tips,
Coming down, on you like rain,
Tell me now where do we remain,
Over my shoulder it goes,
and where it lands, you don't want to know
Over my shoulder it goes,
and where it lands, you don't want to know
song performed by by I Am Kloot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What I Like In You
what i like in you
is that you know how to sing the notes
of a whisper
on the side of my pelvis up to the
tip of my tongue
to the tip of my hair and then back
to the tips of my toes
tipsy
i lie down and bare it all for your
lovely gaze
salivating love
tickling the tips of my soul
i give in
and so you win.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Face
When I see your
Dimpled smile :)
Twinkling* eyes
Glistening grin!
Naughty wink ;)
And the stubbled chin
Of a day old shave.
I feel like making love
To your Adonis Face
With kisses and caresses.
Tracing you with my
Touches...through the
Ruffles of your hair
The contours of your
Visage ~ to the
Curls on your nape
Down the deep trenches
Of your tempting throat.
What?
Not Satiated?
Want a bit more?
But remember,
It was all about
Making love to your Face!
OK.
A little low down.
Let me see ;)
What I can do
With my hands
And mouth:
On those Tips
Of your
Matted Chest.
poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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Bianca
Her cheeks are hot, her cheeks are white;
The white girl hardly breathes to-night,
So faint the pulses come and go,
That waken to a smouldering glow
The morbid faintness of her white.
What drowsing heats of sense, desire
Longing and languorous, the fire
Of what white ashes, subtly mesh
The fascination of her flesh
Into a breathing web of fire?
Only her eyes, only her mouth,
Live, in the agony of drouth,
Athirst for that which may not be:
The desert of virginity
Aches in the hotness of her mouth.
I take her hands into my hands,
Silently, and she understands;
I set my lips upon her lips;
Shuddering to her finger-tips
She strains my hands within her hands.
I set my lips on hers; they close
Into a false and phantom rose;
Upon her thirsting lips I rain
A flood of kisses, and in vain;
Her lips inexorably close.
Through her closed lips that cling to mine,
Her hands that hold me and entwine,
Her body that abondoned lies,
Rigid with sterile ecstasies,
A shiver knits her flesh to mine.
Life sucks into a mist remote
Her fainting lips, her throbbing throat;
Her lips that open to my lips,
And, hot against her finger-tips,
The pulses leaping in her throat.
poem by Arthur Symons
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My prayers
I touched your cold hands
hands that worked the land
caressed your tousled hair
hair that had known flair
kissed your silent lips
lips that sweet secrets keep
My prayers in vain
tears leaving stain
Your words lodged themselves
deep in the crevices and shelves
awaiting the moment of freedom
to shine in the kingdom
I touched her little hands
hands that hold no plan
caressed her soft hair
hair that dances in the air
kissed her sweet lips
lips that smile at the tips
My prayers in pain
soul bare lain
Her laughter clear as bells
chasing away spells
dispersing shadows with her light
casting wrongs putting them right
Your words came flying back
Have faith tho thee lack
it will sustain thee
in life without plea
My prayers in gratitude
love in servitude
Its All In The Game
Many a tear has to fall
But it's all in the game
All in the wonderful game
That we know as love
You have words with him
And your future's looking dim
But these things your heart can rise up on
Once in a while he won't call
But it's all in the game
Soon he'll be there at your side
With a sweet bouquet
And he'll kiss your lips
And couress your waiting finger tips
And your heart will fly away
Once in a while he won't call
But it's all in the game
Soon he'll be there at your side
With a sweet bouquet
And then he'll kiss your lips
And couress your waiting finger tips
And your heart will fly away
And your heart will fly fly away
And your heart will fly away
song performed by by Cliff Richard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Opening A New Window
come to my room
let us open a new window
that opens to another window
look at my face
and hold the side of my body
i will caress your hair with my hands
hold your body softly as a wind holds a feather
my fingers shall travel from the tips of your hair
down to the last tips of the toes of your feet
let us be happy, let us try opening another window
let us see the other windows hidden from our eyes.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Plain
spread. white.
thin. two x two.
rectangular,
you stretch your imagination.
open a scar again.
remove the cut.
undress.
open your lips.
pout.
kiss my feet.
rise.
kiss my head.
i will kneel
don't. please remain
standing.
my tongue can do it.
only for you.
i cannot say a word.
tongue
tied.
i am licking a stamp.
preparing this
mail to a faraway
lover.
i remember what licking
is beside
a stamp.
my feet are too small
for this task. i may ask the help
of four hands.
i have only one
held by this hand.
too much silence here.
i have this thick blanket
and the wind is
too cold.
there is a point
that i toss with my nails
it rolls like a line
and
i am connecting to you
thighs. thighs.
strong legs, and a very warm
pair of lips.
how can i be numb?
you are far.
that is not fair.
i make love to you.
my mind is a traveller into that thousand nights.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Song
There is a song in my head.
It won't allow me to rest.
I still feel the melody playing in my breast.
The melody, the memory of your touch.
The harmony, the joy of my thighs and my lips,
As we welcomed you.
There is no music; I long for you,
Our dance and the movement of your hips.
The taste of you still lingers on the tip of my tongue.
We both sung this our beautiful song.
The senses have not forgotten you.
The song in my head, its like none I have heard.
It needs the music, that only you can play,
Gently on my back with your finger tips
Oh please give me peace.
Let us sing this song, I long for release.
There is a song in my head….
poem by Monciana Edmondson
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When Hopes Are Gone!
A friend shares your laughter and tears...
Lends a helping hand to lessen fears
Friends such, lives on in the heart forever,
...Though they may not end up, together,
Memories of a true friendship will not die,
Their brightest smile will keep it alive.
Holding a special piece of your heart.
Decades distance can never tear it apart.
The tender words that escape their lips.
Flows effortlessly, gently, its at their finger tips
Memories evergreen and oh so constantly lives on..
A strength to move when all hopes are gone..
Nothing seems to be for you and a heartache brings
The voice of a friend in your heart will musically sing! ! -
poem by Shirani Ibrahim
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Indian Is The Client's Race
1
I have a client (in massage)
Pana (indian) is his race
Studied ''daw'' in London
and talk with shaking face
His armpit like a camel
smell ''no washing'' feet
smell no washing feet
smell no washing feet
11
We have a client
Pana is their race
Having business now in Dubai
despite dirhamscrisis
they're going to establish
Like Philippine 5 - 6
Like Philippine 5-6
Like Philippine 5 - 6
111
We have a client
Spring from Pana race
Having same -same faces
From Mumbai Populace
They book daily at FEET FIRST
But mostly no good tips
Mostly no good tips
mostly no good tips
Xi Tao (Chinese therapist) don't reflex
Kai Gue refused their feet
break down
repeat all stanzas
shukran
poem by Rommel Mark Dominguez Marchan
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The Lizard
there is this friendship
between this lizard
and me,
one day it lands on my nape
and crawls on its cold
tiny feet on my nape
to my head and
stays as my watcher
on my hair
and then i slept so tight
forgetting about
everything sad
and depressing.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Ad Manus Puellae
I was always a lover of ladies' hands!
Or ever mine heart came here to tryst,
For the sake of your carved white hands' commands;
The tapering fingers, the dainty wrist;
The hands of a girl were what I kissed.
I remember an hand like a _fleur-de-lys_
When it slid from its silken sheath, her glove;
With its odours passing ambergris:
And that was the empty husk of a love.
Oh, how shall I kiss your hands enough?
They are pale with the pallor of ivories;
But they blush to the tips like a curled sea-shell:
What treasure, in kingly treasuries,
Of gold, and spice for the thurible,
Is sweet as her hands to hoard and tell?
I know not the way from your finger-tips,
Nor how I shall gain the higher lands,
The citadel of your sacred lips:
I am captive still of my pleasant bands,
The hands of a girl, and most your hands.
poem by Ernest Christopher Dowson
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Remember
When I die
With the
Last poem
On my lips
You can
Kiss me
Goodbye
Closing my
Eyes with your
Finger-tips
And in the years
To come by...
Often on a wintry day
When the mercury
Dips....if you don't
Feel like having tea,
You can open up my
Poesies....and take
Some nice, warm sips :)
Never shed
Any tears
For me...
This is just
The way...
I want you
To remember me
With cosy kisses xx
And cuddles (...)
From me to thee :)
poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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Cripple dew
peep the cluster wind, the calling
echo shouted the mountain and
take what you wish as you
bring the sudden creep of the dungeon
of hell
I take the smile you give and you
inherent the laughter
for even the ears talk of your return
now got what you wanted and blow
for a time, as the desert owe rainbow
without the rain
come cab wave of skepticism, tomorrow
would never be the same again, for each
day comes
without thirst and still you will always
be a winner
linger may fall like tears,
the future
lay with jewels in the neck you
take, never the world offer more than
a crystal ball
in the Canmore of pearl
where the valley of wish fall like
stream of tears flown into
the sea
a cripple of feet withstand my arm
and a fingers off my weight
endure my tongue, let decor touches
my lips and set the dew in my
finger tips
poem by Antonio Liao
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Under An Oak Tree
The leaves of my soul crunch beneath my feet
With the many pieces of me
They all collapse without the other half
Wind telling them secrets
The flowers singing them songs
But all of them horror
Saddened lies and deceit
The sent of a green tree so sweet and desirable
Just stands behind me to protect his prize
A rose gently swaying in the breeze
If carefully picked she might know how to please
Then yet again like a man of waves and fire
A man of stone and beard
Once said all women are like snakes
Not all snakes are venomous
But all snakes are deadly
I am different
And this he sees
Very easy to please
All I want is to laugh
To smile and to give
This he does
The wind in my hair is so great
But I know the evilness it holds
The secrets it tells
Dares not to share them with me
Blowing the pages in my journal around
Like a teen to its mother
The fresh due tickling my finger tips
As if feathers trying to make me sneeze
Warming my cooled face
The reds and yellows spying into my eyes
To see what I’m dreaming about
I see as I open my eyes
I was just sleeping under the oak tree
poem by Mrs. Cynosure
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Canyons Of My Mind
The sands of time.
slip
through my finger tips.
leaving particles
behind.
Memories of someone
who doesn't exist.
except in the canyons
on my mind.
poem by Heather Burns
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