Last Commented Love Poems (7,091)

Wouldn't it feel like Christmas
for each day that we get to live together ...?
After all, it's not so much the date that matters,
but the spirit of love, sharing, and joy
we will share with and give to each other ...

Wouldn't it always be like Christmas
when we put into words
how we feel for one another... ?
As if, every time,
hearing the Christmas Carols
when with our parents and siblings we used to gather ...
The ones we listened to as children
and appreciated even more as we grew older ...

Wouldn't it feel like Christmas ...
with every manifest of affection and love,
even if simple and nothing grand ...
That's not what really matters,
for each would still be like a precious present
opened on Christmas day, over and over ...
And through the years to come,
would just utterly become better and stronger ,
as we prove and show
we'll always be there for each other ...

Soft and tender,
Along my thigh.
From my lips,
The softest cry.

Lightly dancing,
Along my waist.
Slow and gentle,
Savoring the taste.

A hot path made,
To reach my lips.
Hungry and consumed,
Arching my hips.

Tracing my body,
With your fingers.
All the places,
Your kisses linger.

The smell of sea foam,
The color of burning leaves
The sound of a flying wedge of cranes
It is autumn, my friend!
Only the boulevard lamp is in bloom ,
On cast iron branches
Illuminating the darkness.
It is autumn, my friend!
The trembling thoughts about
How to save all your loved ones
It is autumn, my friend!
And the tears of love
To everything that dies now
Without this love.
It is autumn, my friend!

The Expressivity of the bloom is captured within the strain of the Blossoming Rose. A Melancholic hue fills the foyer of my mind as I tease my transfixed stare with the temptations of pressing upon the thorns a bit harder with each passing stroke as I caress the stem of the Rose. Each leaf dangling there slowly losing its life as it gives all that it has left for the life of what’s more than just a flower. And in my baneful selfishness I contemplate the idea of being in control as I press harder upon the thorns as I contemplate the girl, I am about to give this Rose to. Like the wick of an old lantern that holds what oil is left within it My hope for satisfying her every desire steadily burns within me yet to an end that will come at a time unknown. Yet like the wrecking ball that tears through structures to make way for new foundations courage beckons me to think not of the thorns or the temptations to earn the right of giving, by bleeding there upon them, I am swayed into a luring motion of handing the rose out to her awaiting her quick yet soft embrace of its profound beauty. In my mind the Rose crumbles to dust and ash. Yet in my hand it remains intact ever so vibrant in its warming majestic glow, of Natures endless words, of a love unspoken. And I with trembling knees extend my arm and hand, the Rose leaning towards her as if it was thirsting for the light of the sun. Yet I am poor and can't afford to buy a rose, so I go and pick a Dandelion instead. What Love I have I'd long to give, if I could but afford that which would by grace express it. And then with a saddened repose I swallow my saliva as if it were a melancholic wine to savor, for I hath no one to give the Dandelion to for the girl I'd long to love I had only imagined. Was I a fool for the imagery or a romanticist for the motions? I felt grieved with resentment for it was pointless to pick the Dandelion. Yet for some reason I began to smile as I realized the Dandelion carried within it many many seeds to spread forth its life anew: or maybe, I could just kiss her hand.

Love is having babies
Watching them being born
so adorned
smells of love
made out of love
This new life
Look into their eyes
See And smell
the innocence of love
I thank God from above
The smell of my grown children
Still reminds me of the love I have for them
Same love now then it was when they were born
The smell of love will never be forgotten

Such joyous Love, why do you make me weep ?
This heart so warm, yet aches without relent,
My mind so tired, still you deprive my sleep,
Each waking hour consumed with sweet torment.
Why do I fall so heavy for your charms ?
Besotted by the lure of womanhood,
And when I'm wrapped in calming female arms,
Why do you raise wild torrents in my blood ?
So many hearts you break with utter grief,
Oh Love, why must we toil to be your slave ?
How can you be so fickle and so brief ?
And yet for some, endure beyond the grave.
The answers lie within Love's tangled mire,
Strewn amidst the agony and the fire

Love is a sweet old decade
passionfruit on the vine
flowers on a corner
made by grand design

Love it tastes like chocolate
French vanilla cream
a sparkling glass of vino
long days seem so serene

But love it has a season
and when its day is through
remember it for the good times
and look for love anew

In the midst of the madness & mayhem of the world there is your love.
And this for me dispells all evil, fear and doubt
When I'm sad,down & in despair,all I need is this love that came from above.
Unconditional, unending & not demanding, its something I can't live without.

You've came into my life when I needed a rope,
hanging on the threads of my sanity.
You gave me a sense of peace, understanding and hope.
Replacing my animosity and vanity.

You stepped in and subdued my anger and bitterness.
But now all that separates us is this distance.
Though I cannot deny this feeling of urgency & bliss.
Fortunately I've been given patience & endurance.

In the depths of passion's untamed,
Our desires unleashed and inflamed,
A connection beyond words, untold,
When bodies collide, in fervor bold.

When I feed your lust, my love,
Your body quivers, with each thrust and shove,
Each rough touch transmits ardor's fire,
A blazing testament, to our fierce desire.

To forceful dance of skin our hearts race,
Our bodies interlocked, in sacred embrace,
Your cries of pleasure, a sweet symphony,
Ignite a hunger, driving me avidly.

With every tremor, a higher peak we climb,
An ecstasy unbound, a primeval chime,
In your vulnerability, my ardor is unchained,
Our passion's fire burns, uncontained.

The boundaries of pleasure, we'll transcend,
This unbridled eroticism, will never end,
climaxing bodies trembling whole,
o*gasm, will be poetry of our souls.