How Dark the Night
(Copyright (c) 2006, Kenneth Scott, All Rights Reserved)
17 June 2006
How dark the night
within your tight, undulating breast-embrace of sensuality,
your torso-sized udder-breasts burying my erect virility
deep inside your satisfying breast-valley, refusing to set me free
as my rivers, my warm, yearning rivers, flow abundantly
between your massive, thirsty breasts of ecstasy.
How sweet the song
all night long, as you moan with insatiable pleasure,
my thrusting tower your lifelong treasure,
your countless gallons of orgasmic udder-bosom claiming me
with overwhelmingly sublime jealousy, undulating udders of jealousy,
refusing to release me from their amorous embrace of tranquillity.
How beautiful the lady
who keeps me, passionately buries my virility
deep between her gigantic udder-breasts of serenity,
faithfully drinking my abundant rivers of love-seed
within her udder-cleavage of ardent need, for hours of delight,
fulfilling her soul this lovely night.
-
I am nourished by your sweet milk of love,
your thick, insatiable udder-nipples joyfully feeding me,
your delicious, lovely voice comforting me with blissful gentleness.
Larger than the rest of your voluptuous torso and hanging free,
your massive udder-bosom nurtures me, embraces me deeply,
squeezes every last dropp of my love-seed out of my aching-hard virility.
And I am at peace, faithfully nourished by your massive udder-breasts
with insatiable love. And I nourish you with my virile power,
filling your moist, deep, sucking blossom with my erect, pumping tower,
thrusting with ardent strength as your two wet petals caress my length,
your thirsty flower blissfully drinking my rivers of ecstasy
as your massive udder-bosom passionately feeds me
with sublime serenity. How dark the night
within your undulating udder-cleavage moist and tight.
poem by Kenneth Scott
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
My Fairest Love-Song
(Copyright (c) 2007, Kenneth Scott, All Rights Reserved)
31 August 2007
She is my fairest love-song,
the melody that comforts me
with the delicate beauty of her sweet embrace
and gentle rose-petal kisses. She is my most-exquisite bliss,
the overwhelming ecstasy between her two torso-sized love-breasts
deeply yearning for me, constantly, repeatedly,
her massive nurse-bosom undulating passionately
as my virile pillar and rivers of love-seed remain buried deep inside
her nurturing breast-valley. She smiles lovingly,
and I am at peace, her gentle soul always receiving me
faithfully, her love for me as vast as
oceans of serenity, her mountainous mother-bosom
blissfully embracing the full length of me, drinking every last dropp of me
with lifelong dedication and amorous elation.
She is my celebration of romantic love fulfilled,
of erotic desires satisfied with completeness.
She will always be
my fairest love-song.
poem by Kenneth Scott
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The world is like a goat's udder. It does not yile any milk, unless you punch and squeeze at it.
The udder of a neighbor's cow is always bigger.
Mums New Necklace
Is this
what awaits us all
gone love once holy
holed is this never used gown
poverty young lovers sang long hours
shortly now
fresh honey buns used up desert dates
now
you smell me comming even corners
now have eyes
sweet smelling necklace threaded large
dull white orbs
smell was told as mouth
sucks pebbles for water in
drools flaccid Hector droops
artificial wooden breasts splintered
across them small very small nearly is
unseen
it runs down excised long since
the rudderless udder
uttered ness
of it all
to
stain your long dead memory of golf is
tea
you drank with me
before lost cows dried up our home.
poem by Is It Poetry
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Unclean becomes clean in needs
A cow’s mouth is held unclean
But not so is its udder.
A dog’s jaw is held unclean
But not so is the hunted
That it brought by its jaw to the hunter.
Every unclean is clean
When a woman is at night.
The need cleanse the dirt
24.01.2003
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Queen Mother
Oh my 'Queen Mother',
How sweet are your breasts as i do see them?
For they are swollen up with love and,
Very attractive for the eyes and the hands to touch them;
But i am the one who want to love you the more!
I fell once and i have learnt my lessons well,
So stop crying and let me care for you;
Because the rainbow had already heard your message of love!
And i will do the rest if you just sleep on my laps.
Your breasts are swollen up and very succulent!
And you are now a matured lady and,
I will press very close to the walls of your love;
For what is sweet are in your breasts and,
What is loveable are on your lips.
I will hold you tight all night long my 'Queen Mother';
For the night is cold i want your sweet love.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Conceal to reveal
Breasts bare, breasts with bra,
Breasts revealing the cleavage,
Breasts under blouse with bare belly
And breasts with contour visible
Have their appeal up in that order.
The more one is left for imagination
The more the beauty will reveal.
06.12.2006
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Sheeptalk
there came out from the open Bible
in a corner of a field
all of the sheep
gave one triumphant bleat
their exodus complete
without them
the book had very much less to say
as a sheep without an udder
gone permanently astray
poem by STEPHEN BRIAN Brady
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
You Are What You Drink
The mare had a foal, but it still had to work plowing
a meager field. The foal, prancing about on thin legs
when we stopped for a rest it quickly drank from its
mother´s udder and there was pastoral harmony.
I thought about this when reading about a six year
old boy in India who drank milk from a female dog
that treated the child as one of her own. Of course
this had little to do with rural accord, but stark need.
I once suckled milk off a ewe, sweet milk I thought,
but grew up fearful of people and shy of aspiration;
be unseen in the world´s field of humility and graze
in peace. Hope the dog- boy will grow up with big
fangs unafraid growl at people who try to dominate
him and only respect what his inner voice tells him.
poem by Oskar Hansen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Sweet Peal
Her beauty and her love lay on the bed,
Of her sweet peal of the glowing lovely breasts;
The kisses of this night will always be remembered.
She is delicate, soft and intense;
Mixed with fresh odour from her muse,
And like the sweet peal anew on a hot summer night.
The sprout of love in her room and,
In her garden of love i do sleep all night;
And of her joy in the light of the gentle sun,
But the sensitive plant in her garden of love matters to me.
Of the power of love in this sweet place,
And of her sweet peal of the glowing lovely breasts;
But like young lovers filled with the mutual atmosphere.
Alone in this sweet glory land,
And of her love like a sea-flower unfold;
But naked and bare from the frozen air,
And so pleasant to a taste if one considers it.
The lady's gentle mind,
And of where nothing is but all seems to be well;
Cold and foul and deep and low!
Lonely as a deep sleep on the blue surface of love;
And woken with the summer dreams of love,
Oh my sweet wide west-wind!
Come closer to us to take us afar.
The blue Mediterranean where she lay is the love of hope,
And of the horizon of her love to the zenith's height!
And like the locks of the approaching storm to meet at last.
For her love is in the beauty of her delight,
Heavy and very slow to the muse that muses;
But her beauty and her love lay bare on the bed,
And like black rains and white rains!
But i will kiss her until she's worn out like the spirits of the night.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Milkmaid
The girl's far treble, muted to the heat,
calls like a fainting bird across the fields
to where her flock lies panting for her voice,
their black horns buried deep in marigolds.
They climb awake, like drowsy butterflies,
and press their red flanks through the tall branched grass,
and as they go their wandering tongues embrace
the vacant summer mirrored in their eyes.
Led to the limestone shadows of a barn
they snuff their past embalmed in the hay,
while her cool hand, cupped to the udder's fount,
distils the brimming harvest of their day.
Look what a cloudy cream the earth gives out,
fat juice of buttercups and meadow-rye;
the girl dreams milk within her body's field
and hears, far off, her muted children cry.
poem by Laurie Lee
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Bat
His awful skin
stretched out by some tradesman
is like my skin, here between my fingers,
a kind of webbing, a kind of frog.
Surely when first born my face was this tiny
and before I was born surely I could fly.
Not well, mind you, only a veil of skin
from my arms to my waist.
I flew at night, too. Not to be seen
for if I were I'd be taken down.
In August perhaps as the trees rose to the stars
I have flown from leaf to leaf in the thick dark.
If you had caught me with your flashlight
you would have seen a pink corpse with wings,
out, out, from her mother's belly, all furry
and hoarse skimming over the houses, the armies.
That's why the dogs of your house sniff me.
They know I'm something to be caught
somewhere in the cemetery hanging upside down
like a misshapen udder.
poem by Anne Sexton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
May's Come To Ireland
The robin he sings on green sycamore bough
And calf drink from udder of her mother cow
And the dark otters play in quiet pools of the stream
And May's come to Ireland and meadows are green,
The sun in the morning shine through the gray fog
And the turf cutters shlaun out dark peat in brown bog
And the gorse bloom with yellow flowers on the brown hill
And golden buttercups bloom on green banks of the rill,
The skylark is carolling his clear notes of joy
As he soars towards the heavens a speck in the sky
And the plain mottled pheasant she sits on her nest
Her twelve olive brown eggs so warm neath her breast
And the swallows fly o'er the green meadows all day
And the hedgerows scent sweet with the blossoms of May.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Negro Speaks Of Rivers
I've known rivers:
I've known rivers ancient as the world and older than the
flow of human blood in human veins.
My soul has grown deep like the rivers.
I bathed in the Euphrates when dawns were young.
I built my hut near the Congo and it lulled me to sleep.
I looked upon the Nile and raised the pyramids above it.
I heard the singing of the Mississippi when Abe Lincoln
went down to New Orleans, and I've seen its muddy
bosom turn all golden in the sunset.
I've known rivers:
Ancient, dusky rivers.
My soul has grown deep like the rivers.
poem by Langston Hughes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Negro Speaks of Rivers
I've known rivers:
I've known rivers ancient as the world and older than the
flow of human blood in human veins
My soul has grown deep like the rivers.
I bathed in the Euphrates when dawns were young
I built my hut near the Congo and it lulled me to sleep.
I looked upon the Nile and raised the pyramids above it.
I heard the singing of the Mississippi when Abe Lincoln
went down to New Orleans, and I've seen its muddy
bosom turn all golden in the sunset
I've known rivers:
Ancient, dusky rivers.
My soul has grown deep like the rivers.
poem by Langston Hughes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!