PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I conger in this naughty mind,

those objects of desire,

who fill my every wanton need,

and set my heart afire.



With hair of auburn, tresses gold,

sometimes brown or red,

she’s ample, thin, or in between,

a tart, perhaps well bred.



Each night my mind can wander off

to plot intrigue and scheme,

and plan a different rendezvous,

a new erotic theme.



She’ll be a damsel in distress,

perhaps a serving wench.

A nurse to take my temperature,

a sexy maid that’s French.



She might be a contortionist,

with arms and legs askew.

Bent backwards like a pretzel,

that’s some position, whew!



Perhaps I’ll be a captured spy,

with secrets in my head.

She’ll torture me, to loose my tongue,

spread-eagled on her bed.



She’ll be a famous specialist,

a doctor, quite well-off.

She asks me to remove my clothes,

then turn my head and cough.



My mistress gives out punishment,

with spankings, whips and stocks.

Or maybe I’ll be papa bear,

and she’ll be Goldielocks.



Each woman is a fantasy,

a figment of my mind.

A harmless little interlude,

in day dreams unconfined.



I think I’ll end this poem now,

kick up my feet and ponder.

Allow my thoughts to run amuck,

my naughty mind can wander.