11 Lusty Love Poems For The Horny Woman In ALL Of Us

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11 Lusty Love Poems For The Horny Women
Love, Sex

Holy hell, these are hot.

Love poems are the little black dress of the lyrical verses. They’re romantic and heartwarming. But what if you want to rip off that dress and flaunt the black lace underneath? Lusty poems will fulfill that passion.

Burning with intensity and hunger, lusty love poems channel our human need for physical pleasure. Heat up your loins by reading these lusty love poems aloud to yourself or your lover. You won't be disappointed. 

1. Sometimes lust doesn’t beat around the bush, like this poem.

you are the one
i am lit for.
Come with your rod
that twists
and is a serpent.
i am the bush.
i am burning
i am not consumed.

"To a Dark Moses" by Lucille Clifton

2. E.E. Cummings has a talent for moving parts.

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 feel Said He" by E.E. Cummings (Read the entire poem here, or why not let Tom Hiddleston read it to you?)

3. Walt Whitman sings his praises for his woman.

Through you I drain the pent-up rivers of myself,
In you I wrap a thousand onward years,
On you I graft the grafts of the best-beloved of me and
  America,
The drops I distil upon you shall grow fierce and athletic
  girls, new artists, musicians, and singers,
The babes I beget upon you are to beget babes in their turn,
I shall demand perfect men and women out of my love-
  spendings,
I shall expect them to interpenetrate with others, as I and
  you interpenetrate now,
I shall count on the fruits of the gushing showers of them, as
  I count on the fruits of the gushing showers I give now,
I shall look for loving crops from the birth, life, death,
  immortality, I plant so lovingly now.

"A Woman Waits For Me" by Walt Whitman

4. Not only has the talented D.H. Lawrence penned sexy books, but he's got a way with rhyme.

And down his mouth comes to my mouth! and down
His bright dark eyes come over me, like a hood
Upon my mind! his lips meet mine, and a flood
Of sweet fire sweeps across me, so I drown
Against him, die, and find death good.

—"Cruelty and Love/Love on a Farm" by D.H. Lawrence

5. Elizabeth W. Garber captures the hunger of lust.

I am so amazed to find myself kissing you
with such abandon,
filling myself with our kisses
astounding hunger for edges of lips and tongue.
Returning to feast again and again,
our bellies never overfilling from this banquet.

—"Feasting" by Elizabeth W. Garber 

6. While W.H. Auden may be gay, we can all appreciate his ode to a blow job.

I opened a gap in the flap. I went in there.
I sought for a slit in the gripper shorts that had charge
Of the basket I asked for. I came to warm flesh then to hair.
I went on. I found what I hoped. I groped. It was large.

He responded to my fondling in a charming, disarming way:
Without a word he unbuckled his belt while I felt.
And lolled back, stretching his legs. His pants fell away.
Carefully drawing it out, I beheld what I held.

—"The Platonic Blow" by W.H. Auden

7. We can all relate to all consuming need.

As bone hugs the ache home, so
I'm vexed to love you, your body

the shape of returns, your hair a torso
of light, your heat
I must have, your opening
I'd eat, each moment
of that soft-finned fruit,
inverted fountain in which I don't see me.

My tongue remembers your wounded flavor.
The vein in my neck
adores you. A sword
stands up between my hips,
my hidden fleece send forth its scent of human oil.

—"The City In Which I Love You" by Li-Young Lee

8. Sandra Cisneros understands the call of morning sex.

Mornings I still
reach for you before
opening my eyes.

An antique habit from
last summer when we pulled
each other into the heat of groin

and belly, slept with an arm
around the other.

"Bay Poem From Berkeley" by Sandra Cisneros (Keep reading for the surprise twist.)

9. Dorianne Laux extolls the aural and sensual pleasures of the F-word.

You called it screwing, what we did nights
on the rug in front of the mirror, draped
over the edge of a hotel bed, on balconies
overlooking the dark hearts of fir trees

or a city of flickering lights. You'd
whisper that word into my ear
as if it were a thing you could taste—
a sliver of fish, a swirl of chocolate

on the tongue. I knew only
the rough exuberant consonant
of fucking, and this soft s and hard c
was a new sound—querulous, slow...

—"The Word" by Dorianne Laux

10. Vegetable is definitely a euphemism.

My vegetable love should grow
Vaster than empires, and more slow;
An hundred years should go to praise
Thine eyes and on thy forehead gaze;
Two hundred to adore each breast;
But thirty thousand to the rest;
An age at least to every part,
And the last age should show your heart;
For, Lady, you deserve this state,
Nor would I love at lower rate.

—"A Coy Mistress" by Andrew Marvell

11. Last but not least is the masterful Rumi.

If anyone asks you
how the perfect satisfaction
of all our sexual wanting
will look, lift your face
and say,

Like this.

When someone mentions the gracefulness
of the nightsky, climb up on the roof
and dance and say,

Like this.

If anyone wants to know what "spirit" is,
or what "God’s fragrance" means,
lean your head toward him or her.
Keep your face there close.

Like this.

"Like This" by Rumi

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