Sexual Healing: Poetry

It gets a little steamy in here. 🙂 Just letting out some pent up sexual energy. Wasn’t too difficult to let it all flow. 



She feels like a goddess in his presence and that, somehow, is enough. He knows exactly how to be gentle and when to be rough. The way he looks at her melts down any insecurities. His dominating energy drops her directly to her knees. She loves the scent and taste of his flesh. She loves coming together and making a mess. It’s hours of magic with limbs intertwined, it’s knowing just pleasure with nothing in mind. With sweat slicked bodies, each fire burns brighter, with each wave that passes she feels bolder and lighter. He mutters approval as she twists and turns her hips. In ecstasy, she lets a scream escape her trembling lips. His strong arms wrap around her as he thrusts faster and faster, her body becoming the puppet to this expert sexual master. He digs in his fingertips and he lets out a wild moan, which sends her over the edge, releasing one of her own. They stay in place, catching breath, foreheads pressed together. She starts to want and wish that this rush could last forever, this satisfied, sexual, powerful glow. Where this ride stops, nobody could know, but in this moment he’s awakened the goddess within, and to never again experience this would be the ultimate sin. The parting of ways one day would be unexpected, abrupt and rough, but today she feels like a goddess in his presence, and somehow that is enough. 


A wanton woman is a lonely soul, she wants for sexual pleasure/ a lover to make her feel like a queen, who’s passion knows no measure.

She wants a lover to touch her, with wonderment and awe/ She wants a lover to kiss her every perfection and flaw. 

She desires the thrill and lust beneath the surface of a new lover/ She desires the reckless feeling of new intimacy uncovered. 

But her want to be wanted by a new experienced lover leaves a hollow, empty hole/ for such lovers don’t exist, a wanton woman is a lonely soul.  



I crave your warmth, the way you make me sweat,

the approval when you discover that I’m already wet,

your fearless, firm grip entangled in my hair,

the moments you’re real enough to lay your soul bare.

There’s a desire and longing deep inside- a place only you can touch.

I’ve tried to hide that darker side, but my body remembers too much.

If you asked me today, I may not be able to say the necessary “no”.

Your hands hold the sway and that devilish grin, as you look at me like you know.

I’m wet just thinking of each time you shook my dignity down to it’s core.

I’m addicted to your drug, playing on my need and constant desire for more.

I can’t strike this memory out of my head, or the feeling of your hands on my skin.

Even if I wanted to forget all the passion, I wouldn’t know where to begin.

The moments were hot, a rush of pure lust,

where I’d be wound so tight I thought I would bust.

There’s a part of me that will always belong to you,

and as I type these words, I know that to be true.

 It’s all one sided, as you’ve found desire with another,

but I’ll always crave the taste and scent of my unrequited lover. 


Breathing quickly, patiently anticipating the strum of your expert fingertips. My body your beloved instrument, the one you’ve spent hours fine tuning with your lips. With love in your eyes, pleasure a promise, I lose my reality grip. Whispers of passion, cries in the night, a grinding and meeting of hips. 


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