literary sexts vol. 1 poetry meme
Literary Sexts is a modern day anthology of short love poems with subtle erotic undertones edited by Amanda Oaks & Caitlyn Siehl. Hovering around 50 contributors & 124 poems, this book reads is like one long & very intense conversation between two lovers. Itâs absolutely breathtaking. These are poems that you would text to your lover. Poems that you would slip into a back pocket, suitcase, wallet or purse on the sly. Poems that you would write on slips of paper & stick under your crushâs windshield wiper. Poems that you would write on a Post-it note & leave on the bathroom mirror. Treat yourself, a crush or a lover with this lush gift!
source and amazon buy link. Â
I will be providing select short, sometimes edited, poems for a texting/âsextingâ meme, but not the whole book itself. Â If you enjoy the poems provided, please support the collection whether itâs the first volume or the second. Â Or look into the works of the various contributors and see if anything else theyâve written is to your liking! Â
Feel free to add to and/or edit these sentences to better suit your needsâbut remember, many of these work best in the context of texts and/or love notes instead of spoken dialogue. Â Â âLizzy. Â
Mark me like a passage from your favorite book, then open me there again and again.
My skin is full of flowerbeds and you know every way to make them bloom.
I am tracing the knobs of your spine like the map of my favorite continent. You are all the places I havenât visited yet and I mark each one off with my teeth.
Your hands unzip me one breath at a time; there is not room beneath my skin for all of you and I spill over the edges with a sigh.
You take apart my heart in pieces with your mouth, but the splash of your tongue against mine feeds it back to me. It tastes sweeter coming from you.
You opened your mouth and spoke the language in my blood.
You kiss me and there arenât sparks. Thereâs an entire orchestra in my chest, playing staccato on my heart strings.
My hands are nomads, my dear desert. May they never find rest.
Being small things, we understand this as our humble attempt at thunder, at setting the world to shake.
Delicate work. Like peeling kiwis. My tongue across your skin. Mellow flesh against my lips. Your taste always in my mouth.
How a storms needs to feel the earth how the earth wakes to the pelt of rain how the ground is quenched is how I need youâŚÂ
My hands were glaciers I never dared to move freely, my fingers icicles. Your touch thawed me to excavation. I want to dig into your warmth.
Kiss me like white bread, stick to my teeth even after the whiskey. I want memories of your mouth lodged beneath my tongue to wake me at two in the morning, hungry.
I want you next to me, in my bed, your clothes making friends with my floor. Love me hard enough so we wake up the neighbors.
Your hands peeling that onion, thumbs and forefingers pulling skin from skinâthey are sacred. Let me kiss them. Let them bless my sinning chest, let them peel my lips apart.
I donât want to be your harmonies anymore; I want to be the melody you scream when your heart is starving for love. I want to satisfy your hunger.
Show me the parts of you that nobody else ever wanted to sleep with. Show me it all with the lights on.
You, darling, are Vesuvius. I wonât see you coming. Erupt. Wreck me. Leave me ashes leave me Pompeii, leave me outlined into your history forever.
Itâs not so much that I want to kiss you. I want to relearn vocabulary words from the shape of your mouth. All my poems are yours first.
Kiss me blossoms in the summer, lover. I want to taste the succulent sweet of your peach tree smile. This time let Adam take the fruit from the garden.
Surge into me as a downpour, as the pounding waterfall which makes swollen rivers flood, as the sea.
The happy ending to this night: you tug my hair and lightly brush your hand across my lap. Donât forget how resilient I am and how I would bend for you.
Even my lungs are in love as we breathe together.
I donât just want to take your breath away. I want to rip it from your mouth and keep it locked away between my teeth. You can only have it back if you kiss me again.
The gentle friction of your hand on my thigh is enough to strike a match inside me. I lean into your lips and the fire blooms and spreads.
You are an undiscovered continent. I trail my fingers down your mountainsides. Ten explorers digging for buried treasure, I want to take it all.
My body is a gospel and you are my first quivering hallelujah. Your breath leaves your mouth like a prayer and washes over me like faith.
My hands are hungry for your flesh, desperate in the way that rivers empty themselves over waterfalls.
I peel back your skin to see if we have the same scars. I follow the map of your veins back to your heart and press my palm against yours to tangle our lifelines.
I hope to breathe in you. I hope my body will be the blood your roots drink.
We commit sins in holy places, fold ourselves between pews like dirty pictures tucked into a bible. Pant each otherâs names until they sound like scripture.
My tongue collides with your collarbone like a meteor careening across the cosmos, and I taste the stars you are made of.
You kiss me with your mouth wide open like youâre not afraid of swallowing poison. I taste the good and bad in you and want them both. We call this bravery.
You, benevolent god, legs splayed like instruments of creation. I, blank slate of the universe, kneel in wait for you to fill me with your hot, honeyed light.
My hands are suntanned tourists without a map whose desire compels them onward to explore your golden cities by the light of the stars.
The moment between your thighs where I become a devout follower of your existence. That hour which passes in slow seconds of soft skin, as I lay my head against you, drifting, drowsy with love.
Your grin is a flash of primal fire in the dark. Somewhere deep inside me, something hungry wakens and shifts, uncurls its insatiable tongue.
I have been thinking of how I want to be touched by you, with hands that will play me like piano keys, with fingers that will make a symphony out of me.
You till the soil of my need, my lips a blood-red flower bursting open with the first wet flush of your heat.
When it comes right down to it, all that nonsense about hearts syncing up feels like a hallelujah with our bodies pressed together like praying hands.
Every time, you peel back my skin, pry open my ribs, and feast on my insides. Every time, you make a meal of my heart, and every time, I let you.
Youâre not one for poetry or sentimentality, so Iâll just say that Iâve dreamt of being the motor oil trapped in the grooves of your weathered hands.
I ache for your hum between my legs, the purring of motorcycles on winding highways: wind in my hair, and romance in losing myself to the sweet, revving vibration of the engine again and again.
You smile and itâs like sunrise. Something inside me Wakes up, stretching.
I float away in cool sheets against my burning skin, and you are the sea guiding me beyond the realm of earthly things.
My lipstick spills over your mouth and trickles down to your chin, your neck, pooling into your collarbones. We love like crushed grapes in wine country.
Youâre kissing a wildfire up my thigh and I am tracing the landscape of your jawbone like a sculptor. My hands were made for this.
The rush you give me: The way a blade of grass must feel when splashed with a cloudâs cry after days of screaming for rain.
We are the fall of Rome, all fire and fighting. We collapse into each other like the pieces of the Parthenon, kissing like gladiators, loving like rebuilding.
You creep into my head like a river rushing for the sea & a cosmic digit of fingertips flash over me.
You are pressing against me like I press flowers against the pages in my book. You are kissing my neck and it feels like the start of forever. I want to touch you until my palms burn.
The wet of your mouth rains down my neck like frame, the soft heat of your tongue burns the apple in my throat. We are practiced at this love that asks angels to cover their eyes and turns devils shy.
I melt into the gentleness of your fingertips. Your tongue presses me open like the summer fresh flesh of a perfectly ripe fig, all juice, seeds and pulp.
The small of your back is refuge, is veldt, is summer heat. And I am predatory snarl.
I canât brush out the taste of you; coffee breath, cigarette smoke, and all. Mouth to mouth; Our shared vices linger on each other. Your salt still lives in my tongue.
Iâll take you quiet as the bones in your closet, love as softly as a whisper. Holding your tongue like a secret.
You smiled and lit up like the dusk. I sank to your lips like the sun against the horizon. We made the day stand still.
I want to kiss you until you melt into me, ice turning to water. I want to drink you deep, and warm you from the inside.
theartofmadeline
yousharknotpass
amandla
