26 Classic Erotic Sex Poems That Will Get You Hot And Bothered

26 Erotic Poems About Love And Sex That Will Get You In The Mood

March 10, 2020 Updated October 7, 2020

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Filipe Almeida/ Unsplash

When you want to get in the mood, maybe you listen to your favorite sexy song or pop on your favorite porn video. But what if we told you there was a way of getting turned on using…poetry? Yup, that’s totally a thing, and we’ve curated sex poems from literary legends like William Blake and Emily Dickinson you’ll turn to again and again. Their quotes about kisses are enough to get you in the mood, let alone the rest of their poems.

And if you think classical poetry isn’t sexy enough or won’t quite get you hot and bothered, then you clearly haven’t read “Love Sonnet XI” by Pablo Neruda yet. Prepare to be surprised. You’re not alone in your love of erotic poetry. In fact, according to the latest search data available, sex poems are searched for over 27,000 times per month.

“A Question Answered” by William Blake

What is it men in women do require?
The lineaments of Gratified Desire.
What is it women do in men require?
The lineaments of Gratified Desire.

“Desire,” Langston Hughes

Desire to us
Was like a double death,
Swift dying
Of our mingled breath,
Of an unknown strange perfume
Between us quickly
In a naked

“If You Were Coming in the Fall” by Emily Dickinson

If you were coming in the Fall,
I’d brush the Summer by
With half a smile, and half a spurn,
As Housewives do, a Fly. If I could see you in a year,
I’d wind the months in balls—
And put them each in separate Drawers,
For fear the numbers fuse—If only Centuries, delayed,
I’d count them on my Hand,
Subtracting, till my fingers dropped
Into Van Dieman’s Land. If certain, when this life was out—
That your’s and mine, should be—
I’d toss it yonder, like a Rind,
And take Eternity— But now, uncertain of the length
Of this, that is between,
It goads me, like the Goblin Bee—
That will not state—its sting.

“The Encounter,” Louise Glück

You came to the side of the bed
and sat staring at me.
Then you kissed me-I felt
hot wax on my forehead.
I wanted it to leave a mark:
that’s how I knew I loved you.
Because I wanted to be burned, stamped,

“The Vine” by Robert Herrick

I dream’d this mortal part of mine
Was Metamorphoz’d to a Vine;
Which crawling one and every way
Enthralled my dainty Lucia.
Me thought, her long small legs & thighs
I with my Tendrils did surprize;
Her Belly, Buttocks, and her Waste
By my soft Nerv’lits were embrac’d:
About her head I writhing hung,
And with rich clusters (hid among
The leaves) her temples I behung:
So that my Lucia seem’d to me
Young Bacchus ravisht by his tree.
My curles about her neck did craule,
And armes and hands they did enthrall:
So that she could not freely stir,
(All parts there made one prisoner.)
But when I crept with leaves to hide
Those parts, which maids keep unespy’d,
Such fleeting pleasures there I took,
That with the fancie I awook;
And found (Ah me!) this flesh of mine
More like a Stock, than like a Vine.

“Delight in Disorder,” Robert Herrick

A sweet disorder in the dress
Kindles in clothes a wantonness;
A lawn about the shoulders thrown
Into a fine distraction;
An erring lace, which here and there
Enthrals the crimson stomacher;

“Love Sonnet XI” by Pablo Neruda

I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair. Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets. Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps. I hunger for your sleek laugh, your hands the color of a savage harvest, hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails, I want to eat your skin like a whole almond. I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body, the sovereign nose of your arrogant face, I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes, and I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight, hunting for you, for your hot heart, like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue.

“xvii” by E.E. Cummings

Lady, i will touch you with my mind. Touch you and touch and touch until you give me suddenly a smile, shyly obscene.

“After Making Love In Winter” by Sharon Olds

At first I cannot even have a sheet on me, anything at all is painful, a plate of
 iron laid down on my nerves, I lie there in the 
air as if flying rapidly without moving, and
 slowly I cool off—hot,
 warm, cool, cold, icy, till the 
skin all over my body is ice
 except at those points our bodies touch like
 blooms of fire.

“Dancing in Odessa” by Ilya Kaminsky

In a city made of seaweed we danced on a rooftop, my hands under her breasts. Subtracting day from day, I add this woman’s ankles to my days of atonement, her lower lip, the formal bones of her face. We were making love all evening —I told her stories, their rituals of rain: happiness is money, yet, but only the smallest coins.

“I Have Found What You Are Like” e.e. Cummings

And the coolness of your smile is
stirringofbirds between my arms;but
i should rather than anything
have(almost when hugeness will shut
your kiss

“Erotica” by S.T.P.

I made love to her on paper and spilled ink like passion across the sheets. I caressed her curves in every love letter. I kissed up and down her thighs in short sentences and prose. I tasted all her innocence, without a spoken word. I bit her lip and pulled her hair, in between the lines. I made her arch her back and scream, it only took a pen.

“Sex Has a Way” by Wendy Lee

Sex has a way of softening limbs, oiling joints and melding hearts. We burrow in closer wrapping arms and legs over and under each other. Earthy blanket of sleep covers us two bodies releasing one breath. Finding home, coiled and tucked in each other’s sweat.

“Untitled” by Mason Fowler

We lay in bed in a heap of sweaty love until the curtains stop holding the sun and light shines on two naked bodies that were strangers the night before, but young lust runs deeper than expected and sometimes a sinner meets another, and a secret is hatched that only a look into the eyes can tell.

“Wild Nights” by Emily Dickinson

Wild nights – Wild nights! Were I with thee/Wild nights should be/Our luxury! Futile – the winds – to a Heart in port – Done with the Compass – Done with the Chart! Rowing in Eden – Ah – the Sea! Might I but moor – tonight – In thee!

“At The Touch Of You” by Witter Bynner

At the touch of you,
As if you were an archer with your swift hand at the bow,
The arrows of delight shot through my body.

You were spring,
And I the edge of a cliff,
And a shining waterfall rushed over me.

“Basket Of Figs” by Ellen Bass

Bring me your pain, love. Spread
it out like fine rugs, silk sashes,
warm eggs, cinnamon
and cloves in burlap sacks. Show me

the detail, the intricate embroidery
on the collar, tiny shell buttons,
the hem stitched the way you were taught,
pricking just a thread, almost invisible.

Unclasp it like jewels, the gold
still hot from your body. Empty
your basket of figs. Spill your wine.

That hard nugget of pain, I would suck it,
cradling it on my tongue like the slick
seed of pomegranate. I would lift it

tenderly, as a great animal might
carry a small one in the private
cave of the mouth.

“To His Mistress Going To Bed” by John Donne

Come, Madam, come, all rest my powers defy,
Until I labour, I in labour lie.
The foe oft-times having the foe in sight,
Is tir’d with standing though he never fight.
Off with that girdle, like heaven’s Zone glistering,
But a far fairer world encompassing.
Unpin that spangled breastplate which you wear,
That th’eyes of busy fools may be stopped there.
Unlace yourself, for that harmonious chime,
Tells me from you, that now it is bed time.
Off with that happy busk, which I envy,
That still can be, and still can stand so nigh.
Your gown going off, such beauteous state reveals,
As when from flowery meads th’hill’s shadow steals.
Off with that wiry Coronet and shew
The hairy Diadem which on you doth grow:
Now off with those shoes, and then safely tread
In this love’s hallow’d temple, this soft bed.
In such white robes, heaven’s Angels used to be
Received by men; Thou Angel bringst with thee
A heaven like Mahomet’s Paradise; and though
Ill spirits walk in white, we easily know,
By this these Angels from an evil sprite,
Those set our hairs, but these our flesh upright.

Licence my roving hands, and let them go,
Before, behind, between, above, below.
O my America! my new-found-land,
My kingdom, safeliest when with one man mann’d,
My Mine of precious stones, My Empirie,
How blest am I in this discovering thee!
To enter in these bonds, is to be free;
Then where my hand is set, my seal shall be.

Full nakedness! All joys are due to thee,
As souls unbodied, bodies uncloth’d must be,
To taste whole joys. Gems which you women use
Are like Atlanta’s balls, cast in men’s views,
That when a fool’s eye lighteth on a Gem,
His earthly soul may covet theirs, not them.
Like pictures, or like books’ gay coverings made
For lay-men, are all women thus array’d;
Themselves are mystic books, which only we
(Whom their imputed grace will dignify)
Must see reveal’d. Then since that I may know;
As liberally, as to a Midwife, shew
Thy self: cast all, yea, this white linen hence,
There is no penance due to innocence.

To teach thee, I am naked first; why then
What needst thou have more covering than a man.

“Desire” by Langston Hughes

Desire to us
Was like a double death,
Swift dying Of our mingled breath,
Evaporation Of an unknown strange perfume
Between us quickly In a naked Room.

“Importune Me No More” (or “When I Was Fair and Young”) by Queen Elizabeth I

You dainty dame, for that you be so coy,
I will so pluck your plumes as you shall say no more: Go, go, go, seek some otherwhere, importune me no more.

“To His Coy Mistress” by Andrew Marvell

Thy beauty shall no more be found;
Nor, in thy marble vault,
shall sound My echoing song; then worms shall try
That long-preserved virginity,
And your quaint honour turn to dust,
And into ashes all my lust.

“Terminus” by Edith Wharton

Wonderful were the long secret nights you gave me, my Lover,
Palm to palm breast to breast in the gloom.
The faint red lamp, Flushing with magical shadows the common-place room of the inn With its dull impersonal furniture, kindled a mystic flame

Emily Alice

“I Too Beneath Your Moon” by Edna St. Vincent Millay

I too beneath your moon, almighty Sex,
Go forth at nightfall crying like a cat,
Leaving the lofty tower I labored at
For birds to foul and boys and girls to vex.

“Love and Sleep” by Algernon Charles Swinburne

And all her face was honey to my mouth,
And all her body pasture to mine eyes;
The long lithe arms and hotter hands than fire,
The quivering flanks, hair smelling of the south,
The bright light feet, the splendid supple thighs
And glittering eyelids of my soul’s desire.

“The Floating Poem, Unnumbered” by Adrienne Rich

Whatever happens with us, your body will haunt mine — tender, delicate your lovemaking…
the live, insatiate dance of your nipples in my mouth — your touch on me,
firm, protective, searching me out,
your strong tongue and slender fingers reaching where I had been waiting years for you
in my rose-wet cave — whatever happens, this is.

Sultry and Sensual Kama Sutra Quotes

“So long as lips shall kiss, and eyes shall see, so long lives this, and this gives life to thee.” ― Mallanaga Vātsyāyana, The Complete Kama Sutra

“For it is a universal rule that however bashful or angry a woman may be she never disregards a man’s kneeling at her feet.” ― Vatsyayana, Kama Sutra

“Love is necessary to satisfy the mind, ethics to satisfy the conscience, and spiritual seeking for peace of soul. Without food and clothes, the body becomes thin and weak. Without eroticism, the mind becomes restless and unsatisfied. Without virtue (ethics), the conscience goes astray. Without spirituality, the soul is degraded.” — The Complete Kama Sutra: The First Unabridged Modern Translation of the Classic Indian Text