Dirty Poems “Roses Are Red, Violets Are Blue…”

For Girls

Roses are red, violets are blue,
You’ve read all the stories—now write your own view.
He sent a smut message? Well, pay him in kind:
What’s filthier, really: his tongue, or your mind?
Let knees meet the carpet, arch over the bed,
Let him see the slut in the tilt of your head.
Don’t bother with filters, don’t fake what you’re not,
Let dirty desire take over the shot.
Girl, push past your limits, let shame disappear,
Come, show him the place where you want him so near.
No script but your pleasure, no pose but what’s real,
Let him see tonight just how hungry you feel!

***

Roses are red, violets are blue—
What fantasy burns at the center of you?
It isn’t his cock, but the way that you own
His every desire, and quiver, and moan.
Your body’s a poem, its picture is two:
Find out what the power of beauty can do.
Let art be your armor, let filth be your muse,
Let him see the offer he’d never refuse.
And when he replies, let him know that you need
An honest commitment to come with his seed.

For Women

I want every woman to join in the game,
To show off her mess and admit to no shame.
A photo, a stanza, a voice note, a moan,
There’s power in dirt when you make it your own.
Don’t stifle your hunger: let out every line
And take what you crave like I take what is mine.
Roses are red, and I’m not alone—
With every confession, we’re taking the throne.

For Girlfriend

Roses are red, violets are blue,
Yet I prefer your pussy’s pink hue.
Lips so soft and honey-sweet,
Your thighs are my favorite place to eat.
Forget the chocolates, toss the wine—
I’d rather taste you every time.
You laugh and gasp, your hips invite,
This poem’s written for you tonight.

For Wife

Roses are red and violets are blue,
My favorite sight? Your knees spread for my view.
You’re art, you’re a challenge, you’re mine to explore,
You beg to be filled, to be used like a whore.
Your pussy’s my canvas, my hands are my brush:
You love how I mark you, how you ache for my touch.
Don’t hide your lust, honey. Come, show me your pride.
Tonight you’re my masterpiece, filthy and wide.

At Work

Roses are red, violets are blue,
My zoom call is on. Boy, if only they knew!
A meeting’s in progress, my face out of sight,
My skirt’s on the floor, and I’m hot, wet and tight.
Boss drones about figures, I barely can hear,
My fingers are busy, I moan with no fear.
My dildo’s on ‘high’ and my nipples are cute,
I ride out my climax, the mic stays on mute,
They’ll never suspect as I arch and I twitch.
But what can I do? I’m a desperate bitch!
When asked for the update, I swiftly reply:
“All handled, all finished,” then let out a sigh.

For Him

Roses are red, violets are blue.
You think love’s a sonnet? I’ll send you a few:
The first is a selfie, my mouth open wide,
A cock in my mouth with all shame set aside.
The second’s a close-up, I’m dripping with need,
Hot cum leaking out from the last brutal breed.
The third is my ass, split open and red,
Still pulsing from fingers I pushed till I bled.

For Boyfriend

Roses are red, violets are blue,
Last night after work I came hard on my shoe.
With panties forlorn on the edge of my bed,
I straddled the mirror, my cheeks burning red.
The camera rolling, the angle obscene,
I watched myself gape, all so swollen and mean.
I spread myself wider and fingered my cunt.
Then added the caption: “Guess who is your slut?”
You sent back a photo, thick ropes on your chest.
You’re welcome, my darling. Come, come, be my guest!

***

Roses are red, violets are blue,
Don’t call it romance, this is what good whores do.
My lipstick’s still perfect, my hair in a bun,
But wait for a little, the day’s just begun.
The lunch break is over, my panties are gone,
My plug is now humming, I’m moving along.
A glance at my phone—just a dumb work request.
I’m fingering deep for your viewing, undressed.
Roses are red, no shame in my view,
I’m loving my cunt and I’ll show it to you.