Poems about hot



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№ 1208676

Making Love In The Hot Tub

No moon
Trees hush
Water lapping
Your body floats
On mine
Squeezing
Stars
Bellies throb
Breast
To chest
Damp hair
Steaming
Hard breathing
We look up
Not wanting
To part
And see
Between
Silhouettes
Of giant
Trees
Orion
The club
Stalks
Cassiopeia
The chair,
The serpent
Rising.


hot,  love,  making,  tub.

Author: Joe Cottonwood
+0-
Date: 05/04/2020


№ 1207154

Hot tin roof on a Cat

Splat... hissschocktawwwwwham... fizzzzz


cat,  hot,  roof,  tin.

Author: Ignatius Brabazon
+0-
Date: 04/04/2020

№ 1206751

Cold And Never Hot

Some Poets use big words
To try and go
Where they've been banned

And wander esoteric
Into notions
Barred to them

They layer on the verbiage,
Hoping to become
What they are not

And bastardize the language,
Running cold
And never hot

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2017)


cold,  hot.

Author: Kurt Philip Behm
+0-
Date: 04/04/2020

№ 1206376

Hot Mess

I cleaned my room a couple days ago.
I never do. I get too tired.
But, ironically, today it is messier than before.
Isn't it always?
You try to fix something and it just bites you in the ass in the end.
Best to just leave it all alone.
It takes too much energy anyway.
Besides, maybe my head was just mean to be messy.


hot,  mess.

Author: emma joy
+0-
Date: 03/04/2020


№ 1204761

Hot Chocolate

The skin around my eye sockets ache
A thumping dull thud
On this Christmas Eve
I drink hot chocolate, a glass of red
I wish I felt like I had it all together.

The television rumbles behind me
My boyfriend and I
We line up like soldiers
To try and determine
How to better treat
And be with one another.

Like a worn down page
Near the end of a book
The front cover you first fell in love with
The introduction you might have mistook
But as you read on
You couldn't help but flip and flip again
Drinking and soaking up the red coated rum
Of delicious page to page.

But we discovered today
In the wooded neighborhood
Called McGee Estates
Where I hang my tired hat for a few days
That a transfer of emotions and hard comings
Have come and settled
And with white torched fingertips
Breathed their name into mine.

An awareness, we find it
We discover it with a pail and shovel
I imagine mistletoe must be hanging
Everyone around me gets engaged
Or their videos go viral
And it doesn't make me bitter at all
I just fight to try and live my best life.

A big deep breath
A surrender to the knowledge
That I cannot conquer and own everything there is
Expectations whistle and thistle
Like the Southern whisper of morning dew
As I run rampant
Trying to discover whats new
Whats new.

But whats new is here
And within me as it always has been
That burnt page doesn't have to spiral into embers
Or a lonely attitude

Its Christmas
Its almost Christmas
I feel as though I've aged eons
But this is the hustle
This is the point of no finish line.


chocolate,  hot.

Author: WomanOfTheNow
+0-
Date: 02/04/2020

№ 1203313

Sure babe yer hot

Reality
...
The setting of the scene

----

Play your role well

---

Play it as if the meaning

Means something
--

Everyone is laughing at you!

--

Simply because you never try to love anyone

--

Flickering images made from human flesh

--

Unreal

A joke
---

You are sacred

Act that way


babe,  hot,  sure,  yer.

Author: jeffrey robin
+0-
Date: 01/04/2020


№ 1202277

Flaming Hot Cheetos

The trick with flaming hot Cheetos
Is to eat all that you want
Before you drink any water.

If you eat some, and then drink,
And then eat some more,
Your stomach will be an ocean

With breakers crashing to and fro
On the banks of your inner shores.
It will not feel nice, so make sure

To follow this advice; for I am, when
It comes to Cheetos, an old man who
Has for learned from my many years

Of eating one way, and eating the other.
And I have found the better of the two,
So heed my authority.


flaming,  hot.

Author: Austin Bauer
+0-
Date: 31/03/2020

№ 1199743

Hot flashes

The door creeks shut.

Paint-chipped floor. planks, tapered by moisture and passage, line the empty room. dried wallpaper and hardwood panels, dusty curtains and muddy windows. hazy echoes emanate from the shambles.

A brick through the pane. a hollow crack and sunlight bursting in. dust spiralling in lively disharmony. fumes rise as the air blurs and twitches. embers bloom from imperfections. debris bonfire - mood lighting.

The walls shake with fever. the ceiling draped in funeral veil. darkness's dress demeaned by incandescent wrinkles.

Doors blast open to the sound of glass-shards hitting the pavement. the soul furnace letting out a violent gasp. rush of blue sky and mountain ranges, fuel the tinder box - gone open flame.


flashes,  hot.

Author: Middlesteps
+0-
Date: 28/03/2020

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