Few would deny the inherent beauty of love. But love isn't always best described by starry eyes, red roses in Spring, and promises of forever. Sometimes, the best way to describe love is - not as a noun - but as a verb.
This poem was written to prove an erotic poem doesn't have to be pornographic.
This poem was written to prove an erotic poem doesn't have to be pornographic.
Lover's Dance
by Poet deVine
in an ageless erotic dance,
seeking pleasures from each other,
seeking wonder and romance.
She touches his face with tenderness.
He draws her body near.
Aching, needing hunger
will make their destiny clear.
Their lips meet in soft kisses,
their tongues begin passion's war.
Forgotten now, the outside world.
All is here, behind this door.
He strokes her body tenderly,
she arches up for his caress.
He finds her silken portal
and her womanly wetness.
She moans in fiery desire
and pulls his hand away,
wishing to end this exquisite torture
and get on with passion's play.
She straddles his waiting body,
eases him into her feminine hollow.
She leads him on a rhythmic dance,
his thrusting hips must follow.
She rides him faster, even then,
to hear his wondrous sighs.
She shows him all the delights
she has between her womanly thighs.
They stare into each other's eyes
and gasp as ecstasy unreels,
and tangles them in a lover's knot
that every answer reveals.
Sated, they lie side by side,
spent but hungering still.
She touches him where their passion came
and tastes their lovers spill.
Their mouths meet in passionate need,
hungry animals once more.
This time he rises above her,
her body to explore.
Their ballet begins again,
as he thrusts his manhood in,
vowing not to end the dance
unless her cries he'll win.
Like beasts of old they become,
riding with desire,
only resting their throbbing bodies
when sated by their fire.
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