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Poems On / About SWIMMING  11/26/2015 6:58:54 PM
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Best Poems About / On SWIMMING
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He grip me so tightly and with such force his kisses were so passionate like he entered my triangle before...he touched the juices of sweetness in me then dove in and ruptured my spine...fluids rushed from my body as he entered me countlessly pleasure sounds arose from his lips to my ears as his body cascaded down apon mine harder this time without release....my body moved in front of his brushing against his pelvis as he entered me again and hours turned into days as he swam inside me like he couldn't find his way out....trickles of sweat beads pierced my skin as he made me climax again and again finally he grew tired and said his final goodbye to my flesh and we laid both satisfied as if we had just arrisen from our tombs of desire
lena clift

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Evangelina (Not A Poem!)

Competing is an art, an art most girls have perfected to a tee. This girl, the one with the long honey and white-blond hair down to her derriere and the wide, sparkling blue-silver eyes, had a slightly flawed work ethic but could compete with the best of them at anything from flying to singing to swimming to running to fighting. Her skill and fine-tuned talents took years and years of dedication and practice and her earlier years literally living in a dog crate like some animal, but she’d broken free of that place and here she was, with a son and family and friends in these peaceful Bastogne plains of tall grasses and swaying night lilies, their fragrance richly filling the air. Her mind wandered now, her stunning eyes focused over the tops of the distant trees, to her victorious flight from that place where she’d been born and raised, in that dank dog crate, how her wings had been bound to her back save for when she was being poked and prodded or chased and beaten. Evangelina extended these limbs now, the cream and tan-streaked wings fanning out to their full span – thirteen feet across, fourteen when she stretched them like she did now; they ached from the memories that she skimmed through.
Katlyn McGinn

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A Thought.

Like every moment is not just a blur but a continuous series of blurs all swirling together with each other moment and the details never live within our memories and suddenly the stretched out words and pretty sentence structures don’t matter, they’re all just one bright part of the living, twisting galaxy, the ever-continuous universe growing across an endless stretch of vast space. And down below our drama’s brewing like a crock pot and the only way to soothe the simmering is to inhale the vapors it creates and hold them in until our heads are swimming; such is the expanding universe, the eternal ocean that is you, your expanse of brown eyes and all of the recollections like seashells tucked in the furls of your brain that I have yet to listen to (to hear the far, far away ocean in this tiny glasslike seashell cupped in the small of my palm) .
Alison Rosalie

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Slipping Into The Cracks

Slipping Into The Cracks
Portable recorder on he held it up so eye could see it eye laughed in his direction there was nothing on it an alien creature does not have an image He was cackling in his glee then he tried to see the image on the screen it was a little yellow duck swimming in a pond of jargon gone were the images of me oh what wonder what delight to be an alien in flight slipping into the cracks just before daylight
Charles Hice

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Poems On / About SWIMMING