More Sex Fantasy Poems

Climb
She grasps the branch
and yet it is me who climbs;
she holds the fruit
and yet it is I who tastes, nectar, sweet.

 

Rhombic Drive
Our two bodies were assembled
into a rocker-slider moving
in the great machine of life,
pushed by passions rhombic drive
up to interplanetary gears.

 

s Express Express Ex
With constant prods of coupling rods,
the steam train wheels turn round;
the whistle screams to let off steam
as engine pistons pound
and you and I, we pant and sigh
making a train like noise.
Uphill, we race until your face
reaches a place of joy.

 

Charon's Daughter
Just like Charon's daughter,
she gently grabbed the oar;
rowed over stormy water
til we reached bright heavens shore.

 

 

Like water and vessel he filled her;
like mortar and pestle, they ground;
they fought and they wrestled until the
bright portal of pleasure, they found.

 

 

Some fill balloons with helium or hydrogen to fly;
I fill them up with feeling and I float off to the sky.
I drift over dream countrysides of chocolate, gold and pink
then, after my balloon ride; softly, back to Earth, I sink.

 

 

With whistling wind entwined, her lacy lingerie,
from off the washing line, is roughly torn away;
black stockings that high kick; a billowing brasier;
knickers that flap and flick, knicked by wind, disappear.