Are you ready to ignite your senses and dive into the world of passionate poetry?
Here are 10 spicy love poems that speak directly to the sensual woman in you.
These verses are crafted to awaken desire, enveloping you in the warmth and intensity of romantic expression.
Let’s jump right in!
My favorite spicy love poem for sensual women
#1 “Sensuality” by Florence E. von Wien
You suck in my beauty, like a ravished beast
The trickling blood of fresh, warm meat.
You breathe in the fragrance of my leprous-white skin,
Till, sated with the fullness of your realization,
You loll in my arms—nauseated with over-feasting.
“Sensuality” by Florence E. von Wien is a bold and passionate poem that captures raw desire with striking imagery.
The comparison to a “ravished beast” makes the emotions feel wild and untamed, pulling the reader into its intensity.
Every line is rich with feeling, blending beauty and longing in a way that lingers.
This poem is perfect for women who love poetry that celebrates deep, fiery emotions.
9 more spicy love poems for sensual women
#2 “Sonnet 129” by William Shakespeare
Th’ expense of spirit in a waste of shame
Is lust in action; and till action, lust
Is perjured, murderous, bloody, full of blame,
Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust;
Enjoyed no sooner but despisèd straight:
Past reason hunted; and no sooner had,
Past reason hated, as a swallowed bait,
On purpose laid to make the taker mad:
Mad in pursuit, and in possession so;
Had, having, and in quest to have, extreme;
A bliss in proof, and proved, a very woe;
Before, a joy proposed; behind, a dream.
All this the world well knows; yet none knows well
To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell.
#3 “A Memory of the Players in a Mirror at Midnight” by James Joyce
They mouth love’s language. Gnash
The thirteen teeth
Your lean jaws grin with. Lash
Your itch and quailing, nude greed of the flesh.
Love’s breath in you is stale, worded or sung,
As sour as cat’s breath,
Harsh of tongue.
This grey that stares
Lies not, stark skin and bone.
Leave greasy lips their kissing. None
Will choose her what you see to mouth upon.
Dire hunger holds his hour.
Pluck forth your heart, saltblood, a fruit of tears:
Pluck and devour!
#4 “The Kiss” by Thomas Moore
Grow to my lip, thou sacred kiss,
On which my soul’s beloved swore
That there should come a time of bliss,
When she would mock my hopes no more.
And fancy shall thy glow renew,
In sighs at morn, and dreams at night,
And none shall steal thy holy dew
Till thou’rt absolved by rapture’s rite.
Sweet hours that are to make me blest,
Fly, swift as breezes, to the goal,
And let my love, my more than soul,
Come blushing to this ardent breast.
Then, while in every glance I drink
The rich overflowing of her mind,
Oh! let her all enamored sink
In sweet abandonment resigned,
Blushing for all our struggles past,
And murmuring, “I am thine at last!”
#5 “Ivory and Rose” by Louis Untermeyer
Here in this moonlit room, I watch you slip
One shoulder from your dress and turn to me;
A polished statue, flushing to the tip
Of marble fingers gradually.
And, like a ripe moon out of flimsy clouds,
Blossoms the shining fulness of your breast.
These curves conceal, this dear perfection shrouds
A soft, miraculous nest.
Your ivory body pulses as the white
Flesh catches flame and rosy tremblings move
Over this sanctuary of delight,
The last asylum of our love.
#6 “Enthralled” by Alfred Bryan
Teach me to sin—
In love’s forbidden ways,
For you can make all passion pure;
The magic lure of your sweet eyes
Each shape of sin makes virtue praise.
Teach me to sin—
Enslave me to your wanton charms,
Crush me in your velvet arms
And make me, make me love you.
Make me fire your blood with new desire,
And make me kiss you—lip and limb,
Till senses reel and pulses swim.
Aye! even if you hate me,
Teach me to sin.
#7 “The Kiss” by Thomas Oldham
“What other men have dared, I dare,”
He said. “I’m daring, too:
And tho’ they told me to beware,
One kiss I’ll take from you.
“Did I say one? Forgive me, dear;
That was a grave mistake,
For when I’ve taken one, I fear,
One hundred more I’ll take.
“‘Tis sweet one kiss from you to win,
But to stop there? Oh, no!
One kiss is only to begin;
There is no end, you know.”
The maiden rose from where she sat
And gently raised her head:
“No man has ever talked like that,
You may begin,” she said.
#8 “Infatuation” by Lee Timberlake
In bat black night,
When stars slide low
And look;
Your wet red mouth,
A suckling rose,
Seeks mine
And draws,
Retreats,
Provokes,
Then melts my soul
And moulds it yours.
#9 “Penance” by Anonymous
He kissed me—and I know ‘ twas wrong,
For he was neither kith nor kin.
Need one do penance very long
For such a tiny little sin?
He pressed my hand-that wasn’t right!
Why will men have such wicked ways?
It wasn’t for a minute, quite,
But in it there were days and days!
There’s mischief in the moon, I know ;
I’m positive I saw her wink
When I requested him to go;
I meant it, too, I almost think.
But, after all, I’m not to blame,
He took the kiss ! I do think men
Are quite without the sense of shame!
I wonder when he’ll come again?
#10 “The Flea” by John Donne
Marke but this flea, and marke in this,
How little that which thou deny’st me is;
It suck’d me first, and now sucks thee,
And in this flea, our two bloods mingled bee;
Thou know’st that this cannot be said
A sinne, nor shame, nor losse of maidenhead,
Yet this enjoyes before it wooe,
And pamper’d swells with one blood made of two,
And this, alas, is more then wee would doe.
Oh stay, three lives in one flea spare,
Where wee almost, yea more then maryed are.
This flea is you and I, and this
Our mariage bed, and mariage temple is;
Though parents grudge, and you, w’are met,
And cloysterd in these living walls of Jet.
Though use make you apt to kill mee,
Let not to that, selfe murder added bee,
And sacrilege, three sinnes in killing three.
Cruell and sodaine, hast thou since
Purpled thy naile, in blood of innocence?
Wherein could this flea guilty bee,
Except in that drop which it suckt from thee?
Yet thou triumph’st, and saist that thou
Find’st not thy selfe, nor mee the weaker now;
‘Tis true, then learne how false, feares bee;
Just so much honor, when thou yeeld’st to mee,
Will wast, as this flea’s death tooke life from thee.