Intimacy poems that are original and profound. Explore a brilliant collection of intimacy poetry that you can’t stop reading. These poems on intimacy are published by poets from all over the world and are sure to keep you High On Poems!
Love Insanity It has no beginning, no end either Only an intrigue the ‘is’ its synonym She laughs on that state of mine Become mischievous, I will turn over new leaf Limit!That even reason seeks its foot prints For prostration
Body sat at desk, Huddled over a book. Eyes fixated on the page in front of you Finger twirling through your hair. The same eyes that often wander my body, Hands that get tangled in my skin. I watch the
This fathomless free fall of hollowness This unceasing relentless devouring of happiness May it cut so meaningfully deep…. as deep as my heart once sang. For the wounds reflect an unyielding hope, untouchable memories, cherished moments. Ascent and descent ..
Lighter than a feather, when weighed on you though, never heavier, Rain in the storm, blown away I’m torn, open up, it’s not like the norm Adored but not shown, praises that become worn, Show me the love, where’s the
The Bygone years seldom had couple breaking up That was the period when intimacy meant sex and the couple had plenty of it too with off springs springing up too often having hardly a year gap between them Lady was
Having to forget you is a misconception. I understand that things happen and these things we often have no control over. Consequence. Watching the boat leave it’s pier is one of the most beautiful things. My honest opinion. The beginning
Eyes do speak. It’s funny how they perceive the things around. The broken conversations heard by fully complexed ears. I believed that I’d be ok. The conclusions that eyes draw. Never making sense of the words heard. I believed it
Sat outside beneath a starry sky, with a favourite glass of wine With the silver glow of moonlight, oblivious of time Your hand is held in mine, the special intimacy of touch Just sharing conversation, times like this I love
Hazel eyes and long curls of chocolate hair, these were just what caught me first. Clean skin, unspoiled, never marred by the crooked calloused hands of man. She was and always will be the paragon of beauty, and to only
My boo boo what have we become, I’m so depressed an all alone. I’m desperate and somewhat oppressed, What’s a man to do when he’s distressed. Try to touch you but to no avail, All my efforts are quickly unrailed.
Drowned in unclogged arteries: thoughts. I am going to release a swarm of bees. It was your dark hour. A father sits outside your body to collect the stings. A restive finger on a blue gun invites the ghosts to
(1) The door; out of it there is everything; Flags and noise, traffic policemen, temptation apples, toothy eyes, ears calculating breath bangs, tinny moon counting steps, cheeks flowering with love ready to pass to oblivion, flattering choruses, cola tans, gay
Listen that delicate one at the stream With the touches of rays at the shimmering cheeks That rhythming heart with troughs and the peaks With the waters of eyes and the emotions, cream Quiet is the drop and the orangish
You’re inside a reality as dripped by Jackson Pollack everything guided, everything only seeming accidental. Straight lines eaten by curves and color as a sense of inevitability. Somehow it turns out as thousands of interlocking narratives, never a single start
The Door// By: Fareed Ghanem **** (1) The door; outside there is everything; flags and noise, traffic policemen, temptation apples, toothy eyes, ears calculating breath-bangs, tinny moon counting steps, cheeks which flower with love, ready to pass to oblivion, flattering
She only knew she was impelled by some force greater than her will. Touching her lips that warm her flash. Merely touching them wasn’t enough. She was drowning in a wealth of sensations. The salt maleness she could taste beneath
I am a warrior, fighting the battles of life’s challenges, tripping over the cracks on the sidewalks, drinking cold coffee, listening to sad songs, working on taxes, calling in borderline sick, and driving the combative zone of rush-hour traffic, what
I had a chance meeting with a quiet fellow No, we did not meet Didn’t even share a breath Unsure if it was male, female or hermaphrodite Still it was unlooked for Rising in a predawn hour, ready for the
From my pristine homeland I set out on an adventure spree Carving my own trajectory along Heading towards the fathomless sea . Having left behind the comfort of home I’m conscious of the hardships ahead Knowing well, there’ll be hurdles
This place is always a little lonely At the weekends…no noise and life; I like solitude, But not in places Where there’s recently been A lot of people. Reclusiveness protects you From nostalgia, And you can be as nostalgic In
The beauty of it all. Pulling something from nothing. Nurturing the created. Molding it shaping it. The song the art the science. All teased from the ether. All born into existence by consciousness. Without consciousness, there would be nothing.
She is the whole world to me She is middle aged, still looks young She possesses wrinkles, yet is the most beautiful She is the lady with courage and strength She strives for patience and perseverance She believes “Work is
NEW MOON SPELL in the backwoods of the Louisiana bayou, voodoo is alive and well… Calling on fire, wind, earth and water in the shadow of the torch lights as the dance of the dead is danced, caught up in
Evanescent be the vision I see, ephemeral be that which I seek.. But I search for I ought, for without it, I am but nought. Not for an answering soul, but for the manifestation of that which I conceive; a
Nomadic moon was roaming in the maddened fear of night. A wordless journey in silent dark. Betonica for a painless being, sustains the blues of separation. An inverted green puts the roots upward to send a message. Fear breaks the
I am now estranged from everything I once was The very simple things that change because A lover loved someone and then was crossed I sat and cried for hours and something in me now was lost No more sunshine
I was not capable of contradicting the quietness. A silent emotion was insulting me. Forgetting the self-denial I went for choosing the impossible. Am I sick of myself? The agony overwhelms me with mystic relief. Here and now I feel
Critical conscience is not an admittance of ambivalence, But a philosopher once said: “You threw a rock at my head Fred!” A road along a path is but a journey to nowhere, If your cart is broken by a donkey
When night will not speak and shoes will float on the water; legs of truth will not move. Latched to absence unreasons held the hands of time. I stopped believing in myself. The genome had come in a bottle. when
She’s my perfect girl. Every day at college she sits with me, Enjoys my company and accepts my love As I do hers… She’s my perfect girl, She knows I play too many games, And that I’m obsessed with cartoons,
Tryst with enemy bakes the earth. I am standing firm on dust of times with rising threat. In vloaks, under the fading moon they had come, plundered my yard of truth and blackened the face of an ancient statue of
On the transient cage-like throne Amidst columns of arms and might, The regalia holds the unwieldy sceptre….. Lust and lavishness drag him to loot Fiefdoms torn and patched; Fear drives him to frighten others The ‘should be patriarchal arms’ Instead