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
For ages, her life has been A journey of endless strife Most of the times unrecognised Generation after generation Beautiful as a part of nature itself In whose lap she is born and brought up She grows up to attain
I can wait patiently enough, Although it is extremely tough, I can wait patiently enough, For your answer. Subtle though, my love Is not a flower Which will wither away, With every passing day. It has the power To sustain
The forensic experts came this morning With their dusters, blades and little poly bags They searched what was left of his heart And found traces of sympathy Carelessly scattered around its chambers By the sweet maid Who made his bed
Family first, And old saying, As if from a western, Almost sounds rehearsed. Yet when I tip my cap, On this dusty afternoon, I appreciate the folks, Whom without life’s a lonely moon. When carrying across, Metaphorical plains, Dry and
Clips, Clamps, Berets, and Bows. School, church, playdates, she goes. But that’s just the beginning of her poor hairs woes. Down again? Up again. Knots again? Brush again. Food again? Comb again. Gum again? Glue again? Brush, and comb again.
Reached, not yet pubescence: a cloud says, moon was crazy, treading on a forbidden lake of frozen tears. Breaking fast unto death for releasing the doves in sky of hymns. The gametes were weary. Procreation will wait. Let the dark
loving male, natural of pleasure, quintessentially rendered suitable to us via way ova our darling daughter. tis the blessing of this average, contemplative damn ejected flotsam globular human impish jokester kooky lamb misunderstood nonestablishmentarian outlier praises quality ram rod sterling
Petersen House, Washington, D.C. (i admit to own a passion for the Civil War in general, and the life and death of the sixteenth president in particular). between a hard spot of whiskey and draughts of arrack nonetheless (without doubt),
Inside my prose poem is happiness, happiness for all. Even the juicy parts don’t lack think material. I have it on good authority. My autistic Aunt says I should stop writing. Where are the beans? I was told in my
She pressed her ears to the ground- to feel the vibratos of his words. They tiptoed into her senses- barefoot bleeding tact on facts. Flustered with assumptions- they trampled a mockingbird! It raised its head unafraid- gasping for its last