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Best Poems - Sex
Best Poems – SEXY
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First Poem for You – Kim Addonizio
“I like to touch your tattoos in complete
darkness, when I can’t see them. I’m sure of
where they are, know by heart the neat
lines of lightning pulsing just above
your nipple, can find, as if by instinct, the blue
swirls of water on your shoulder where a serpent
twists, facing a dragon. When I pull you
to me, taking you until we’re spent
and quiet on the sheets, I love to kiss
the pictures in your skin. They’ll last
until you’re seared to ashes; whatever persists
or turns to pain between us, they will still
be there…” |
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| Penus Envy – Alta
“penus envy, they call it
think how handy to have a thing
that poked out; you could just shove
it in any body, whang whang & come,
wouldn’t have to give a shit.
you know you’d come!
wouldn’t have to love that person,
trust that person.
whang, whang & come.
if you couldn’t get relief for free,
pay a little $, whang whang & come.
you wouldn’t have to keep, or abort,
wouldn’t have to care about the kid.
wouldn’t fear sexual violation.
penus envy, they call it.
the man is sick in his heart.
that’s what I call it.” |
| Their Sex Life – A. R. Ammons
“One failure on
Top of another.” |
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| Next Morning – Anonymous (trans. by Andrew Schelling)
“Next morning
When a damnfool parrot—
right before her parents—
starts to mimic
last night’s cries of love,
the girl leaps up,
blushing,
claps her hands to
start the children dancing—
jangle of her bracelets
drowning out the parrot’s calls.” |
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| I’ve Never Had It Done So Gently Before – Richard Brautigan
“The sweet juices of your mouth
are like castles bathed in honey.
I’ve never had it done so gently before.
You have put a circle of castles
around my penis and you swirl them
like sunlight on the wings of birds.” |
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| The Body – William Bronk
“Watch it. That’s the body: what goes on
next door. Here, you can see it. Turn out the light;
their luminousness will show more in our dark.
What are they doing? We seldom know for sure,
but what a pleasure it is to watch. Look now!
I think he hit her, did he? We can’t hear
what they say. Sometimes in summer a little. Then,
when the windows are open. But most of the time we guess.
It’s like a play: he said…, she said…. Write
your own lines as you will. Or leave them blank.
Blank as they are. Or are they? You look at a back
sometimes and know it’s talking. There are even times
it’s almost all we want to do, to go
right over and move right in; but after all,
we live here, not there, and have, as you know,
for a long time. These people, they come and go.
But it’s fascinating. There’s always something new.” |
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| For All Tuesday Travelers – Sandra Cisneros
“I am the middle-of-the-week wife.
The back-door sneak.
I wake the next-door neighbors
who wonder at who arrives so late,
departs so early.
Who yearn to know
the luxury of love delivered.
Love that comes and goes
without the ache,
without the labor.
It is a good life.
I would not trade it
for another wife’s.
I am the topic
of the Wednesday-morning chatter.
Who in her lone society
politely sips the breakfast given her.
Correctly travels with a toothbrush,
her own comb. Says thank you,
please, goodbye, and runs along.“ |
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| Sonnets Actualities: i like my body when it is with your – e. e. cummings
“i like my body when it is with your
body. It is so quite new a thing.
Muscles better and nerves more.
i like your body. i like what it does,
i like its hows. i like to feel the spine
of your body and its bones, and the trembling
firm-smooth ness and which i will
again and again and again
kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,
i like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz
of your electric fur, and what-is-it comes
over parting flesh… And eyes big love-crumbs,
and possibly i like the thrill
of under me you so quite new” |
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No Thanks: may i feel said he – e. e. cummings
“may i feel said he
(i’ll squeal said she
just once said he)
it’s fun said she
(may i touch said he
how much said she
a lot said he)
why not said she
(let’s go said he
not too far said she
what’s too far said he
where you are said she)
may i stay said he
(which way said she
like this said he
if you kiss said she
may i move said he
is it love said she)
if you’re wiling said he
(but you’re killing said she
but it’s life said he
but your wife said she
now said he)
ow said she
(tiptop said he
don’t stop said she
oh no said he)
go slow said she
(cccome? said he
ummm said she)
you’re divine! said he
(you are Mine said she)” |
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| the boys i mean are not refined – e. e. cummings
“the boys i mean are not refined
they go with girls who buck and bite
they do not give a fuck for luck
they hump them thirteen times a night
one hangs a hat upon her tit
one carves a cross on her behind
they do not give a shit for wit
the boys i mean are not refined
they come with girls who bite and buck
who cannot read and cannot write
who laugh like they would fall apart
and masturbate with dynamite
the boys i mean are not refined
they cannot chat of that and this
they do not give a fart for art
they kill like you would take a piss
they speak whatever’s on their mind
they do whatever’s in their pants
the boys i mean are not refined
they shake the mountains when they dance” |
| Lip Was A Man Who Used His Head – J. V. Cunningham
“Lip was a man who used his head.
He used it when he went to bed
With his friend’s wife, or with his friend,
With either sex, at either end.” |
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After Reading ‘Mickey in the Night Kitchen’ for the Third Time Before Bed – Rita Dove
I’m in the milk and the milk’s in me… I’m Mickey
“My daughter spreads her legs
to find her vagina:
hairless, this mistaken
bit of nomenclature
is what a stranger cannot touch
without her yelling. She demands
to see mine and momentarily
we’re a lopsided star
among the spilled toys,
my prodigious scallops
exposed to her neat cameo.
And yet the same glazed
tunnel, layered sequences.
She is three; that makes this
innocent. We’re pink!
she shrieks, and bounds off.
Every month she wants
to know where it hurts
and what the wrinkled string means
between my legs. This is good blood
I say, but that’s wrong, too.
How to tell her that it’s what makes us—
black mother, cream child.
That we’re in the pink
and the pink’s in us.” |
| How To Make Love To A Man – Sharon Doubiago
“Run your tongue down the two tendons both sides
of his neck. Run your tongue back and forth
along the ridge of the underside.
Run your tongue along the ridges of the head, inside his
fingers, thighs, Adam’s apple, Achilles’ tendon. Wet
the rigid shaft of his calf, the long hairs sticking up from his toes
and the ones lying down over them like little blankets. Love
his ridges, his frigid Soul. Think
glacially. Constant motion, advancing slowly. Remember
penis envy is what men have of each other. Remember no man
can will an erection. Have him enter you awhile
the knee chest position to dissolve the ridges. Remember
he’s terrified. Remember it’s all he wants. Remember
he seeks confidence you know how to handle
his body, you’ll grip him firmly enough. Remember for a man
the importance of technique. Remember like gripping
a tennis racket. Remember he’s
emotional. When he comes be careful
not to tighten your grip. Be careful not to forget
the battlefields he comes to you from. Forget them, the lies
he must overcome to come to you. Forget that
to be a ‘man’ is to be unjust. Remember his mother
removed him from their bed, deposited him
on the narrow mattress with bars in the cold cell alone. Make
love to all his ex-loves who live in him as surely as he
makes love to yours though he seeks to banish them.
Though he will say so kindly I wish you were free. He
wishes to be free. Help him with trance, wear
silk, light candles, wear levis and flannel, wear
nothing, don’t undress. Remember
just dissolve. Remember no jerky movements. Remember
his greatest fear, he won’t be able to please you, he’ll lose
it; let you down. Remember your walls
to clasp and unclasp him. (Some will resent this, you will know
who.) Remember every man is different
and when it becomes the dance
with each’s spirit, when the river is more swift
than flesh, when you break through to the place remember
expose yourself. Let him see you. When he comes be
careful not to change. Remember the ridges
you roamed to get here, the fall
either side. Where the road began. Where you are going.
When he begins to ascend toward the body cavity
forming a firm rounded mass when the ocean synchronistically
booms approval his edge of aggression, when you ride
his aggression till you disremember everything remember
this is time this is place this is life this is you. Remember
he wants all women so great is his love.” |
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| When The Young Husband – Donald Hall
“When the young husband picked up his friend’s pretty wife
in the taxi one block from her townhouse for their
first lunch together, in a hotel dining room
with a room key in his pocket,
midtown traffic gridlocked and was abruptly still.
For one moment before Klaxons started honking,
a prophetic voice spoke in his mind’s ear despite
his pulse’s erotic thudding:
“The misery you undertake this afternoon
will accompany you to the ends of your lives.
She knew what she did, when she agreed to this lunch,
although she will not admit it;
and you’ve constructed your playlet a thousand times:
cocktails, an omelet, wine; the revelation
of a room key; the elevator rising as
the penis elevates; the skin
flushed, the door fumbled at, the handbag dropped; the first
kiss with open mouths, nakedness, swoon, thrust-and-catch;
endorphins followed by endearments; a brief nap;
another fit, restoration
of clothes, arrangements for another encounter,
the taxi back, and the furtive kiss of good-bye.
Then, by turn: tears, treachery, anger, betrayal;
marriages and houses destroyed;
small children abandoned and inconsolable,
their foursquare estates disestablished forever;
the unreadable advocates; the wretchedness
of passion outworn; anguished nights
sleepless in a bare room; whiskey, meth, cocaine; new
love, essayed in loneliness with miserable
strangers, that comforts nothing but skin; hours with sons
and daughters studious always
to maintain distrust; the daily desire to die
and the daily agony of the requirement
to survive, until only the quarrel endures.”
Prophecy stopped; traffic started.”
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I Prefer Pussy – Alexis Rhone Fancher
a little city kitty ditty
“I prefer pussy, as in cat
as in willow
as in chases a rat
as in raised on a pillow.
I prefer pussy, as in riot
as in foots
as in pussycat doll
as in puss-in-boots.
I prefer pussy, as a twat
it is not, nor
is it a beaver,
a clam or a cleaver.
I prefer pussy to
nookie or gash,
it isn’t a box,
or a cave or a slash.
I prefer pussy to snapper
or snatch, far better
than taco or
slit or man-catch.
I prefer pussy, though
rosebud’s not bad,
and muffin sounds homey,
and cooch makes me glad.
I prefer pussy, as in whip
as in flower,
as into it you slip—
as in I have the power.” |
| Nude Descending A Staircase – X. J. Kennedy
“Toe upon toe, a snowing flesh,
A gold of lemon, root and rind,
She sifts in sunlight down the stairs
With nothing on. Nor on her mind.
We spy beneath the banister
A constant thresh of thigh on thigh—
Her lips imprint the swinging air
That parts to let her parts go by.
One-woman waterfall, she wears
Her slow descent like a long cape
And pausing, on the final stair
Collects her motions into shape.” |
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The Knowing – Sharon Olds
“Afterwards, when we have slept, paradise-
comaed and woken, we lie a long time
looking at each other.
I do not know what he sees, but I see
eyes of surpassing tenderness
and calm, a calm like the dignity
of matter. I love the open ocean
blue-grey-green of his iris, I love
the curve of it against the white,
that curve the sight of what has caused me
to come, when he’s quite still, deep
inside me. I have never seen a curve
like that, except the earth from outer
space. I don’t know where he got
his kindness without self-regard,
almost without self, and yet
he chose one woman, instead of the others.
By knowing him, I get to know
the purity of the animal
which mates for life. Sometimes he is slightly
smiling, but mostly he just gazes at me gazing,
his entire face lit. I love
to see it change if I cry-there is no worry,
no pity, no graver radiance. If we
are on our backs, side by side,
with our faces turned fully to face each other,
I can hear a tear from my lower eye
hit the sheet, as if it is an early day on earth,
and then the upper eye’s tears
braid and sluice down through the lower eyebrow
like the invention of farmimg, irrigation, a non-nomadic people.
I am so lucky that I can know him.
This is the only way to know him.
I am the only one who knows him.
When I wake again, he is still looking at me,
as if he is eternal. For an hour
we wake and doze, and slowly I know
that though we are sated, though we are hardly
touching, this is the coming the other
coming brought us to the edge of-we are entering,
deeper and deeper, gaze by gaze,
this place beyond the other places,
beyond the body itself, we are making
love”
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| The Pope’s Penis – Sharon Olds
“It hangs deep in his robes, a delicate
clapper at the center of a bell.
It moves when he moves, a ghostly fish in a
halo of silver seaweed, the hair
swaying in the dark and the heat—and at night
while his eyes sleep, it stands up
in praise of God.” |
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| Topography – Sharon Olds
“After we flew across the country we
got in bed, laid our bodies
delicately together, like maps laid
face to face, East to West, my
San Francisco against your New York, your
Fire Island against my Sonoma, my
New Orleans deep in your Texas, your Idaho
bright on my Great Lakes, my Kansas
burning against your Kansas your Kansas
burning against my Kansas, your Eastern
Standard Time pressing into my
Pacific Time, my Mountain Time
beating against your Central Time, your
sun rising swiftly from the right my
sun rising swiftly from the left your
moon rising slowly from the left my
moon rising slowly from the right until
all four bodies of the sky
burn above us, sealing us together,
all our cities twin cities,
all our states united, one
nation, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.” |
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| Bed Music – Charles Simic
“Our love was new,
But your bedsprings were old.
In the flat below,
They stopped eating
With forks in the air.
They made the old sourpuss
Climb the stairs
And squint through the keyhole,
While we went right ahead
Making the springs toot,
Playing ‘Low Down on the Bayou,’
Playing ‘Big Leg Mama,’
Playing ‘Shake It Baby’
And ‘Carolina Shout.’
That was the limit!
They called the fire brigade.
They called the Law.
They could’ve brought some hooch,
We told the cops.” |
| Hard Mornings – Kathleen Wiegner
“You would take
everything
I had
and say
you’d earned it
with your
young body
and occasional
concern
as if it were hard.
At times
you stand
at the bedroom
window excited
by the girls’ legs
flashing in the street
as if I had not
been with you
all night
long.
One time
you got excited
just talking
about them,
God, you said,
those short skirts
and I was lying
beside you
with nothing on.” |
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