NOTE: This page is a daughter page of: Poems
This page started as a list of sexy and suggestive poems that I read and liked and then evolved. There have many been many times in dating when I've felt inspired to send a wonderful girl a sexy poem, so long as she's pretty high on my flirting comfort scale of course. The reaction from women has been amazing - many have never been sent a naughty poem in their life and it can bode very well for a night of passionate sex!
Somewhere along the way I went one step further. If I couldn't find a poem that matched my feelings, I would write her a poem. I have added some of those sweet and sultry poems here. In the past I've written many animal poems for platnoic friends, but sharing my sexy writing is a little more vulnerable, so be gentle. My hope is that it inspires you to send or write sexy poems to your special someone.
If in doubt about how a poem will be receieved by someone you've recently started dating, the just ask your special friend where she or he currently falls on the flirting comfort scale. Your answer will quickly tell you just how naughty your poem is allowed to be.
Here are some poems to ignite passion.
Milk And Honey
Like your mouth has the gift of reading and I'm your favorite book. Find your favorite page in the soft spot between my legs and read it carefully. Fluently. Vividly. Don't you dare leave a single word untouched. And I swear my ending will be so good. The last few words will come. Running to your mouth. And when you're done. Take a seat. Cause it's my turn to make music with my knees pressed to the ground.
--Rupi Kaur (Indian-Canadian poet)
A friend, Elena, once got Adam and I a couple of books (mine was "The Sun and Her Flowers") by the incredible the Indian-Canadian poet, Rupi Kaur. Many of the poems were sad... but then there was this one.
fluted with gold,
fruit on the sand
marked with a rich grain,
spilled near the shrub-pines
to bleach on the boulders:
your stalk has caught root
among wet pebbles
and drift flung by the sea
and grated shells
and split conch-shells.
fire upon leaf,
what meadow yields
so fragrant a leaf
as your bright leaf?
-- H. D. (Hilda Doolittle)
And yet one arrives somehow,
finds himself loosening the hooks of
in a strange bedroom-
feels the autumn
dropping its silk and linen leaves
about her ankles.
The tawdry veined body emerges
twisted upon itself
like a winter wind!
-- William Carlos Williams
To A Dark Moses
You are the one
I am lit for.
Come with your rod
and is a serpent.
I am the bush.
I am burning
I am not consumed.
-- Lucille Clifton
Wild nights - Wild nights!
Were I with thee
Wild nights should be
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 -
-- Emily Dickinson
Make War, Not Love
Graze your fingers
against my skin
like a soldier
crossing a landmine
throw your kisses
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
if you promise
to destroy me
-- Sahith Shetty
NOTE: They featured this one in Cosmo under my name. That's just bad journalism: https://www.cosmopolitan.com/sex-love/a30361520/best-sex-poems/... I think they copied and pasted a few of these poems from this webpage actually.
After Making Love In Winter
At first I cannot even have a sheet on me,
anything at all is painful,
a plate of
iron laid down on my nerves,
I lie there in the
air as if flying rapidly without moving,
slowly I cool off—hot,
warm, cool, cold, icy,
skin all over my body is ice
except at those points our bodies touch like
blooms of fire. Around the door
loose in its frame, and around the transom, the
light from the hall burns in straight lines and
casts up narrow beams on the ceiling, a
figure throwing up its arms for joy.
In the mirror, the angles of the room are calm, it is the
hour when you can see that the angle itself is blessed,
and the dark globes of the chandelier,
suspended in the mirror, are motionless-I can
feel my ovaries deep in my body, I
gaze at the silvery bulbs, maybe I am
looking at my ovaries, it is
clear everything I look at is real
and good. We have come to the end of questions,
you run your palm, warm, large,
dry, back along my face over and
over, over and over, like God
putting the finishing touches on, before
sending me down to be born.
-- Sharon Olds
Lady, I will touch you with my mind.
Touch you and touch and touch
until you give
me suddenly a smile,shyly obscene
-- E.E. Cummings
trace the silhouettes
of smooth, contrasting thighs.
They navigation rounded hips
with familiar fascination.
Inhalations whisper of longing.
The breaths catch...
while fingers orchestrate
an exhaled symphony of moans.
I wrote poems inside of her
with my fingers.
Our story began
with her scream.
And ended with her soul
on my lips.
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.
Sing You Home
She puts her hands on either side of my face, and the room falls away. I have never gotten so lost in a kiss before.
And then, the space between us explodes. My heart keeps missing beats and my hands cannot bring her close enough to me. I taste her and realize I have been starving.
I have loved before, but it didn’t feel like this.
I have kissed before, but it didn’t burn me alive.
Maybe it lasts a minute, and maybe it’s an hour. All I know is that kiss, and how soft her skin is when it brushes against mine, and that even if I did not know it until now, I have been waiting for this person forever.”
Suggestive Poems by Andrew Noske (A.N.)
Her Passion Song
One night of passion,
memorable for eternity,
make me crave,
her sweet smiling face under me.
If her body was an artful song,
I want to savor every note.
My favorite verse,
between her ears and neckline.
Each word has meaning,
I turn the pages of the musical score.
With my large hands,
rested on the curve of her lower back,
My grip firm enough to let my passion known,
soft enough to reassure that I will listen carefully to her sounds.
To learn the meaning of the songwriter's every decision,
upwards the crescendo will engorge from the softest murmur,
to the loud guttural screams of forte.
My fingers will move across her,
As if dancing over my polished saxophone.
My hot breath travels down her neck,
deep inside her, filling her completely as I blow.
I want her.
each nerve ending is listening.
made for kissing.
So I write this one verse,
a tribute to her memorable presence.
To let her know that the sound of her song is memorable forever.
That I want to have her play for me her song, once more.
The orchestra will be the amphitheater between damp sheets, cries of ecstasy and a soft touch.
-- Andrew Noske
I don't mean to be obtuse,
I want to drink in,
both essence and your juice.
Such is the paradox,
of being a warm blooded gentleman,
I don't always want to treat you like a fragile lady,
and gently take your hand.
I want to throw you against the wall,
and pin your arms above your head.
To make you gushing wet,
before you even see my bed.
You can call me daddy,
or whatever you really like.
Your breathing will stop and start abruptly,
As my finger trace up your thigh.
I will dominate you,
in this moment in time,
I will take and not ask,
you will surrender your body under me.
Each move I make now is aggressive,
but I am not inside you yet.
I'm about to make this a night,
we will never forget.
We risk one of us falling,
from lust into love.
But for now the shaking of your legs,
Is far more than enough.
In this moment I won't give you praise and thanking,
I want to give you, a solid spanking.
What is life without moments of passion,
of spontaneous dancing of the flesh.
I want you to scream my name,
both of us losing control of ourselves.
Closer to our primal animals.
You drive me wild.
I want to hear the full dynamic range of your voice.
Moan and scream and yelp.
Don't say to me three words.
Right now, I just need two words from your lips.
-- Andrew Noske
she is water,
men thirst for her,
her subtle full-filling taste in their mouth,
she dances across the pebbles,
no stone untouched,
by her liquid fingers.
powerful at times,
gentle at others,
her sound of torrents and ripples each softly up the rainforest gullies.
she rains from the heavens,
she shapes the land.
i am here to ground her,
to give shape beneath her,
to let her embrace me,
to find every hole and every inch of my permeable soil.
down into the cracks,
making the earth wet.
I will cup her in my hands,
and drink her in slowly,
so she can become me,
and I become her.
she is water,
-- Andrew Noske
The Roar of the Lioness
I have never touched her, but I wish I could.
Only read her my written stories.
Talked of fire and passion.
Expressed desire, yet too far away.
Like a distant land, forged of savannah and wild fire.
A different life perhaps, or just timing,
To displace every item of furniture in her home.
A beautiful mess of clothes, and candles and dampness.
Order through chaos, her crumpled black panties like a work of art.
The fine scents in the air, intertwined with the sound of carnal moans,
in the same manner her body contorts around mine.
There was no time to talk, only time to play.
The moment the door slowly unlocked, and I saw her,
She had to be pushed against the door,
Her neck begging for my strong hands, grinding back on me.
Our minds were filled only with lust, more reflex than cognition
Yet somehow plotted a chaotic battle from her door to her bed,
where finally I could learn every inch of her.
To hear the fierily roar of the lioness.
-- Andrew Noske
I have a metal bowl,
that isn't for eating.
If I stroke it the right way,
trace around the outline with care.
It will sing.
A beautiful vibration which resonates powerful and permeates deep into your soft skin.
I have some oil,
that isn't for cooking,
If I rub it into my hand the right way,
press it against the surface of my slippery palms.
It will heat up.
A beautiful soft sensual wet heat which lubricates and permeates into creamy skin.
I have a table,
that isn't for dining,
Undress and lay face down.
if I touch you in the right way with my big hands,
Trace around your beautiful curves.
Your body will melt with pleasure.
A beautiful slow massage which caresses and permeates deep into your smooth skin.
I have a desire,
that isn't for the ears of others .
To take these elements once more,
delightful sounds and touch.
To spoil you,
caress your body.
Leave you begging for more touch,
And watch your body sing.
-- Andrew Noske
Never Been Massaged
A nipple squeezed,
A back is arched.
A first date, turned naughty in a hidden corner on the street.
A prelude of things to come.
Once we can can kiss passionately again,
In the comfort of soft sheets.
In her shell for so long,
Deprived of loving hands.
She has forgotten energetic touch until now.
A highly sensitive woman,
Emphatic and extremely reactive to every touch,
And nothing could feel sexier to me.
She's never had a lover massage her body.
To lay her down naked and cover her in oil.
Jasmine scented candles,
A massage table and a world free of distraction.
Darkness by flickering candlelight and soft melodies to make her melt.
Two large hands ready to please.
And then two arms, two elbows, and my entire body rubbing against hers as the night progresses.
I will straddle her and make her skin slippery.
My hands will move to the music over her soft skin.
The first hour of playlist will be deliberately relaxing,
Any sexually charged music would surely send me over the edge.
My hands will move professionally over her body at first,
But when she says she's ready for more, they will squeeze just a little longer.
To draw the energy in her body towards her erogenous zones,
Let my hands linger.
On her inner thighs,
She will spread her legs slightly.
We will prepare for this night.
I will count the hours.
We will see how far she is willing to go.
For me I already know she turns me on.
And that all she has to do is whisper the words "I want you".
And then it will be a matter of a few sexually charged songs before I am nibbling her air and sinking myself deep inside her.
I have no desire to hide my intention of wanting her to orgasm all over my sheets. I will happily massage her body and then leave after a kiss on the cheek, but happier still will be our bodies entwined enjoying the slippery wetness of her oil coated skin and slowly convulsing body. To stay up late and stay the night entangled in each other's hands. Just enough energy to blow out the candle, but not enough to turn off the wonderful music still dancing in the air.
I want her.
I want her to never forget her first full body massage.
-- Andrew Noske
I woke up with her sensual kisses still swirling in my head.
I vividly remember every detail of her touch.
I want her in the bed next to me again soon.
To explore deeply.
Her nubile body felt like a finely tuned instrument,
Crafted to perfection.
Every light stroke on her sensitive skin causes sounds.
Her body arches and my hands caress her sexy shapely figure.
I let hands appreciate her curves before I apply my mouth.
My lips long to be on her.
My lips want to be everywhere.
I will have to wait just a little longer.
To know the full extent of her pleasure and vulnerability.
To run experiments.
Her mind is just as beautiful as her smile.
Her gyrating on the dance floor intoxicating.
Her kisses on my neck were electric.
Science has never felt more sexy.
Music has rarely sounded so sweet.
-- Andrew Noske
She leans seductively against the wall, in her silky fitted dress.
Her body is still panting slightly.
She's suggested that I leave, but she also wants me to stay.
She says for me to stay would be dangerous.
On that we agree.
From the moment she let me into her house, my hands have been all over her sensual skin.
My lips started with sweet pleasantries, but have slowly migrated towards her perfect neck.
For hours we've been wresting on the couch, slowly undressing, dressing and undressing the same clothes. She wants me to leave, and she wants me to stay.
She leans against the wall, with her messed up hair still somehow perfect.
Her eyes still glazed over from orgasm.
And I stand on the other side of the kitchen,
Frozen in movement, but my head still racing.
We stand in silence.
From the moment our lips touched, our hearts started racing like wild horses. Her incredibly sexy body arched each time my hands roamed over her gorgeous hips. I have been devoured her with my eyes and mouth. I have now seen this woman naked, and I have seen her dance. I have felt her body gyrate and she has been driving me crazy ever since. She says I've been driving her crazy too. She wants to take things slowly, but she also wants me to shove her against the wall pull her hair and thrust myself deep inside her.
For hours I've been hard, and yet never quite entered into her soft wet tunnel, only felt it clench over my fingers again and again. This foreplay alone isn't quite enough to quell our desires, and yet she won't drop her rules of engagement. She says the time is not right, and her anxious side still rules over her desire to feel completely filled with pleasure.
I'm unable to finish getting dressed. I want to spend the night.
On my right-hand side is the door.
But in front of me is an oriental beauty with porcelain skin and an ass that is begging for more spanking. A body that pulses with energy when I lift her into the air. Lips that are sensual. A beautiful, intelligent mind that is most intoxicating to me in our many moments when we connect deeply and we feel the entire world drop away.
I don't know whether our first time will be slow and sensual, lost in space and time... or pure animalistic lust, where she screams on her bed and pulls at my hair while I pin her down. It feels like a delicious luxury problem to have. Deciding each time if I want to kiss her slowly, or make her body convulse. Deciding together.
What I do not know, unfortunately, is whether she will be scared away. Her fear of intimacy may win. We may never know what it feel like to spent an entire weekend soaked in intoxicating smell of sex. My favorite dates with her have been us dancing. And now, in this apartment, our back-and-forth dance continues. To stay or leave.
She leans against the wall, a sexy asian goddess with unforgettable eyes.
Her body screaming for more.
And I just stand still, staring at her sensual body like a lion ready to pounce, but frozen in time.
Never before have I seen anything quite so beautiful as her sultry eyes.
For me to stay would be dangerous. On that we agree.
But I cannot leave.
-- Andrew Noske
My name made it into Cosmo! My friend discovered this in July 2022, so I've written to them to change this to the correct author of this poem - Sahith Shetty