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10 Erotic Poems for Her

by | Sensual Intimacy

May 1, 2024

When next you truly want to turn your woman on, send her any of these ten erotic poems and watch her yearn for more of you.


Sheen skin in a dimly lit room,

Spread your legs apart and pull me close 

Place your hand atop my occiput 

And sing a song that makes me hard.

Tough love is what I give on days when 

You want your hair to be pulled back 

Call me daddy 

This is what it means to be mine. 

This is what it means to seek an orgasm 

And find it in the groin of a lover;

This rod shall be yours to keep,

And pleasure shall be mine to give. 


Bend over and turn your back into a bow. 

That shoots shards of pleasure into my eyes so that I close them and imagine a world. 

Where it is just us. 

In this world,

We’re fighting and fucking

And making music in the morning. 

Let’s imagine what it means to swallow a lump that stays lodged in your throat. 

Let’s make the memory of this sex that lump. 

Let us make love we never forget so that on days when you are gone,

I will remember your face and the dildo’s hum. 


I like it wet. I like it moist. 

In this body, I seek a memory of the first day we kissed. 

I will search your insides with my hands,

Bending my knuckles upwards so that the ball of my fingers stroke the ridge of your vagina. 

I will also search your insides with the head of my penis,

Slow strokes and then faster ones, 

Until you can’t help but dig your fingers into my back 

And call me names you’ve never called anyone before. 

Daddy. Call me that; I love it,

Just the way I love it when your eyes reach for the back of your head as though you’re struggling to keep your sanity from falling out of your skull. 


There used to be me, and then there became us,

and now I can’t help but seek to build this thing we’ve got,

Just the way I build my confidence when atop you. 

There’s a look in your eyes that pulls me into places 

Too close to oblivion. 

Would you get on my dick and ride me up a 

Hill where there is only music and the taste of your cum?


Your cum paints my dick like a sandwich. 

Can I call you baker, or is that my title?

Your butt cheeks are like the cake I bury my face between. 

My tongue seeks to play with the knob of your clitoris like one with the knob of a mouse. 

Let me guide your pointer into places where you fail to suppress a scream—

Into places where home is close,

Where my nipples are hard, and I ask that you look at me when I am fucking you. 

I like the look of beauty when I begin to jerk and you pull me close so that I’m emptied inside of you. 


From bar to bed. From drinking wine to drinking your juices—

I seek to paint your face in white milk from the shaft of my penis.

You can swallow if you want, or you can swipe a hand across—

This ought to be sensual, a hopeless moment. 

Call me a romantic,

and let me give you a name. 

But first, call me daddy. 

Hold at my face and say you want nothing 

More than watching pleasure dance in my eyes. 

There are butterflies in your tummy that must 

Find an escape in your moans and screams. 


It’s raining outside. I ask that your vagina paints a wet map on my bed today,

Just so you see that you are my world. 

What are bonds without breakage?

What is sex without some tension and yearning?

I bring you to the edge of a river and 

Hold you, keeping you from joining yourself to it. 

You’re only allowed to be a tributary in my world. 

This is magic, the making of love;

the burning away of insecurities on a stake. 

I will cheer you into peace. And each stroke will be a claim that cannot be overturned. 


I want your body and mind and everything in that 

space no one can reach. 

I feel as though I am in a prison, so please free me:

Pull this condom out and push me back inside you,

so that skin meets skin and eyes meet eyes. 

I know what it means to be a broken thing. 

I know how it feels to want a lost feeling,

So I ask you to resurrect my passions. 

Get on your knees and free my dick from my trouser. 

Now, place it in your throat. 

Gag reflex. Spit on it. Smear your spit across, so that I am shiny and wet. 

Gold. Remember the taste of love when I am away. 


Let me admire your butt.

Get dressed and then begin to peel the clothes off one by one whilst I sit and watch. 

I know the beauty of skin against red lights 

Let your silhouette sing me a song 

Put your head on my shoulders 

Or better put: let the head of your penis find peace 

in the walls of my vagina. 

Barricade. Prisons. Like when I hold your arms behind your back in the doggy, so that it is impossible to move. 

Poetry is a song we must learn to sing when our desires grow too large to fit into a bedroom. 


Fuck me. 

Fuck me like you mean every minute of it,

Like a broken clock is watching us. 

I know laughter, the taste of wine,

The taste of kinks explored. 

I know  I want you more than I want anything else. 


Poetry is a form of writing that ignites passion and can make one feel things just texts cannot make them feel. 

By Ubee

Ubong Johnson (Ubee) is a relationship expert and writer. He writes articles that cover everything from relationships and nutrition to lifestyle. His works have appeared in several literary magazines, including The Shallow Tales Review, Ngiga Review, and the Kalahari Review. He is the founder and editor of Fiction Niche.

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