Pajiba

Right up my alley! This might very well be the third comment in total that I have posted since reading this site...
And since there is no Thanksgiving where I am at, today is simply Friday.

Let me throw my two cents in: e e cummings, i like my body when it is with your body

On the website you posted above, number 1, poem 2.

Love, love, love that poem.

Dude, why is your mom sending you books by Newt Gingrich? Tell her to knock that shit off.

I'm gonna pork Marlene Desmond.

Mrcreosote, have you read any of Bill O'reilly's novel, Those Who Trespass?

Here are some audio samples of some of the hilarious literary "sex" that Bill O'reilly is capable of

Arrival, by William Carlos Williams

Also, that header pic is ridiculously hetero-normative and frankly, fairly off-putting in a Skinemax soft-core kind of way.

THE CINNAMON PEELER by Michael Ondaatje

If I were a cinnamon peeler
I would ride your bed
and leave the yellow bark dust
on your pillow.

Your breasts and shoulders would reek
you could never walk through markets
without the profession of my fingers
floating over you. The blind would
stumble certain of whom they approached
though you might bathe
under rain gutters, monsoon.

Here on the upper thigh
at this smooth pasture
neighbor to your hair
or the crease
that cuts your back. This ankle.
You will be known among strangers
as the cinnamon peeler's wife.

I could hardly glance at you
before marriage
never touch you
-- your keen nosed mother, your rough brothers.
I buried my hands
in saffron, disguised them
over smoking tar,
helped the honey gatherers...

When we swam once
I touched you in water
and our bodies remained free,
you could hold me and be blind of smell.
You climbed the bank and said

this is how you touch other women
the grasscutter's wife, the lime burner's daughter.
And you searched your arms
for the missing perfume.

and knew

what good is it
to be the lime burner's daughter
left with no trace
as if not spoken to in an act of love
as if wounded without the pleasure of scar.

You touched
your belly to my hands
in the dry air and said
I am the cinnamon
peeler's wife. Smell me.

The Ninth Secret Poem, by Guillaume Apollinaire.

http://www.artofeurope.com/apollinaire/apo2.htm

WW Norton just posted "Feast" by Todd Boss, and I think it fits here nicely.

It starts with this:

" —Let me taste
the kitchen in your skin.

Now that company’s gone
& the kids are tucked in,
let the real feasting begin.

Let me lay you out on the
bed like a spread of bone

china.—Yes, I want a
piece of you.
Yes, I do."

Click through for the rest.

That women in the header pic has plumbers butt under her chin.

That said, the steamiest poem in the English language is:

THE TYGER (from Songs Of Experience)
By William Blake

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare sieze the fire?

And what shoulder, & what art.
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? & what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,
And watered heaven with their tears,
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

"Now that company’s gone
& the kids are tucked in,
let the real feasting begin."

Dying. That is HORRIBLE.

Poems are beautiful. Completely opposite from all of the fake in header photo.

Seduction Poem by Alison Croggon

I want the slew of muscle: a less
cerebral meeting place, no word
but your male shout, the shirred
unpublic face and honest skin
crying to me, yes,
the mouthless, eyeless tenderness
crying to be let in.

Unbutton all your weight, like a bird
flying into night's starred nakedness:
put down your grammatical tongue, undress
your correct and social skin:
come white and absurd
all your language one word
crying to be let in.