5 Ultra-Sexy Poems That’ll Make You All Tingly Down There

Let’s keep things spicy in the bedroom by brining in some sexy love poems. These five erotic poems are sure to titillate and delight your honey. Read one to him as you get ready for bed, or send one to him at work to prep him for a night of lusty passion.

Whatever you choose to do, do it ardently.


To A Dark Moses

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.

— Lucille Clifton


Sea Poppies

Amber husk
fluted with gold,
fruit on the sand
marked with a rich grain,

spilled near the shrub-pines
to bleach on the boulders:

your stalk has caught root
among wet pebbles
and drift flung by the sea
and grated shells
and split conch-shells.

Beautiful, wide-spread,
fire upon leaf,
what meadow yields
so fragrant a leaf
as your bright leaf?

— H.D.



And yet one arrives somehow,
finds himself loosening the hooks of
her dress
in a strange bedroom—
feels the autumn
dropping its silk and linen leaves
about her ankles.
The tawdry veined body emerges
twisted upon itself
like a winter wind . . . !

— William Carlos Williams


Wild Nights

Wild nights – Wild nights!
Were I with thee
Wild nights should be
Our luxury!

Futile – the winds –
To a Heart in port –
Done with the Compass –
Done with the Chart!

Rowing in Eden –
Ah – the Sea!
Might I but moor – tonight –
In thee!

— Emily Dickinson


After Making Love In Winter

At first I cannot even have a sheet on me,
anything at all is painful,
a plate of
iron laid down on my nerves,
I lie there in the
air as if flying rapidly without moving,
slowly I cool off—hot,
warm, cool, cold, icy,
till the
skin all over my body is ice
except at those points our bodies touch like
blooms of fire. Around the door
loose in its frame, and around the transom, the
light from the hall burns in straight lines and
casts up narrow beams on the ceiling, a
figure throwing up its arms for joy.
In the mirror, the angles of the room are calm, it is the
hour when you can see that the angle itself is blessed,
and the dark globes of the chandelier,
suspended in the mirror, are motionless—I can
feel my ovaries deep in my body, I
gaze at the silvery bulbs, maybe I am
looking at my ovaries, it is
clear everything I look at is real
and good. We have come to the end of questions,
you run your palm, warm, large,
dry, back along my face over and
over, over and over, like God
putting the finishing touches on, before
sending me down to be born.

— Sharon Olds



Lady,i will touch you with my mind.
Touch you and touch and touch
until you give
me suddenly a smile,shyly obscene

— e.e. cummings


Sultry Sunday

Calloused fingertips
trace the silhouettes
of smooth, contrasting thighs.

They navigation rounded hips
with familiar fascination.
Inhalations whisper of longing.

The breaths catch…
while fingers orchestrate
an exhaled symphony of moans.

— L.M.


I wrote poems inside of her
with my fingers.
Our story began
with her scream.
And ended with her soul
on my lips.

— A.A.



I made love to her on paper.
and spilled ink like passion across the sheets.
I caressed her curves in every love letter.
I kissed up and down her thighs in short sentences and prose.
I tasted all her innocence, without a spoken word.
I bit her lip and pulled her hair, in between the lines.
I made her arch her back and scream,
it only took a pen.

— S.T.P.


Graze your fingers
against my skin
like a soldier
crossing a landmine

throw your kisses
like grenades
into the trenches
of my mouth

carve bullet holes
onto my chest
and remind me
of where it hurts

let your moans
sound like gunfire
and your breath
feel like death

i’ll come
if you promise
to destroy me

make war
not love

— Sahith Shetty

Love is life’s greatest gift.



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