Bits of Cyn  by  Pacific NW artist CC Willow
Bits of Cyn by CC Willow

Erotic Poetry:

This page is 18 years & Over only. As it is erotica, it contains graphic and sexual content.

Samples below

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But at Night

soundcloud audio file

Yes, I’m a liberated woman,
working side-by-side men;
pulling my own weight.
I’m one of the guys.
During the day – listen to my opinions.
You damn well better be politically correct,
treat me as your equal.
During the day you damn well better treat
me as your equal.

But at night –
I want to let loose.
But at night – take me and give me your demands,
take me and give me your aggression.
But at night – rage your passions;
twist my hair and pull back my head.
Take me and pull off my clothes;
let me feel your hard hands claim me.
But at night – let me feel your mouth on my thigh;
let me fall on my knees, you standing in total trust.
At night, I am not your helpmate;
I am your opposite, your challenge –

And in the morning … you damn well better
treat me as your equal.

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My petal’s sensual flame.
Thy passion rose in it,
drunk on
a river of secret honey.

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Maroon Cotton

Maroon cotton
over worn jeans;
his fingers find
my covered folds.
Exploring I take
his mouth and taste,
my fingers tug
at his cotton.

Impulse flares;
it is mid-day,
there are no familial
duties to fulfill,
there is no reason
for false resistance.
We fall into bed
fall into each other;
maroon cotton and jeans
tumble to the floor.

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Cancelled Season

I know I should be ashamed of myself;
I picked “Joey” up at a Laundromat.
Oh, I know I should remember his name …
whatever it is …
but he stood there looking so young and Italian,
an actor besides …
the resemblance was uncanny
to the character!
And I thought I could use
a friend like him.

I admit it was shallow of me,
going for a face with no apparent mind.
And, really, I didn’t feel the need
for intriguing conversation.
I was thinking of a season,
not a long-term contract;
a handsome face to look at in the evening,
a young stud “in the sack”.

A shame, since he thought so slow,
that I dismissed his thinking entirely;
did not see his enthusiasm for me
spin off to something more
until too late, until it was clear he thought
us more than friends, thought I was his.

I’m sorry, “Joey”. It’s a shame, really,
but I must cancel our season.
I’m looking for entertainment
not a commitment.

Shallow; I should remember that a man
is so much more than just a pretty face.

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Monday’s Dream

I had a dream about you Monday.
I dreamt that we were walking along a small stream
in some mountains and came across a meadow.

And we laid a blanket down
I laid down, eyes closed
soaking in the morning sunlight.
Then I could feel you unbuttoning
my sweater opening it
felt the light upon my skin,
felt your skin rubbing my breast,
felt your hands stroking up from my stomach
across my nips to my lips and then back down.
I finally opened my eyes
and looked at your face,
your tiger eyes.

And then you kissed my neck,
one of your fierce kisses of yours
that make my thighs gush.
You tugged at my jeans
I opened them and you slid them off
leaving me trembling in the morning sunlight;
You spread my thighs and slid right in
filling my slit up with your cock
and you stroked me so nice;
I could just feel you sliding in and out my slick snatch
feel you rub my clit
each time you went deep

and that’s how my dream faded …

With us twining until nothing existed or mattered
but the warmth of the sunlight
the heat of our twining.
Your thighs inside my thighs, you above me
your hands holding onto me
and your sweet cock filling me urgently.

With us twining until nothing existed or mattered
but the warmth of the sunlight
the heat of our twining.

Your thighs inside my thighs, you above me
your hands holding onto me
and your sweet cock filling me urgently:

Even awake now

I can still feel you on me.

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Cost of an Angel

angel, can you smile
when you lack a sensual flame?

i do miss that familiar joy;
how life becomes a beautiful surround
i can linger in
after that flight of rhythm & touch.
it is no blessing, is it,
to exist in a body
isolated from the world.
devoid of passion;
a life of purpose
is damning without desire.
the lack of which strips a caress
into a soul-less touch,
the worshiping kiss of the mouth
into a platonic peck,
a shout of celebration
into a whisper that fades
until no more.

i do not believe denial
is good for the soul;
it becomes stripped of essence.

those who love me, deny me; taking
enforced celibacy as sacred inspiration.
reducing  heaven’s gift of joy
into a guilty service.
a hungry soul stripped
into a pale shade
that will run after you no more.

i wished to fly
but not at the cost of leaving the ground.
angel, you should have warned
that my wings would only come alone
and the smile would be bitter.

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Dismissing the Mid-Summer Dream

You encapsulated me in your fantasies
and I … I would not dispel them.

You allowed your heart to be seduced
by my softness, my yielding,
my willingness to enjoy the moment.

You delighting in my somnambulant eyes,
the moistness of my lips,
the way my nipple puckered against your tongue.

You’ve taken our movements;
added import & drama to our words
and elevated them to a set stage.

You … drunk on being in love …
did not notice that
I was just along for the ride.

You were the bird I held lightly so,
and wanted to be held by;
a pet, nothing more.

But a quick-silvered, winged creature –
I would not be held onto.

I was eluding fantasies of my own making.

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Tongue In Cheek

Determined, my flesh seeks out your flesh,
skin on skin.
My hard member seeks out
your secret spots.
“There, touch me there” you plea
and I comply, working your body.
“Deeper” you plea, and then descend
into wordless moans and pleadings.
“Lower” you plead and I go down on you,
working your flesh as you tremble and moan,

until I can go no more.
“I’m sorry, Honey” I apologize;
I can never
last long enough
to bring you satisfaction.

Bemused, I roll over & wonder
when our late night twinings
produced such sexy moans
and pleadings from you, my husband,
as did my knees and elbows

giving you that deep muscle massage.

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I won’t plant geraniums
because there’s a ‘ho
in my garden.

Sightless Vera was rumored
to plant them,
a bold Edict
against the white house
their brick planters delineating
straight lines of the porch,
until her husband,
Harry, died.
That is what the neighborhood
sightless Vera was rumored
to plant red geraniums.

I go with native plants
& purple wild roses un-pruned.
To the neighborhood I am the lady
who changes the garden with the seasons.
The brick now planted
with white jasmine trellises
shielding the visitors from view,
visitors un-rumored, unsighted.
A wanton rose, flying
from bee to bee;
hand trowel, hoe and seed packets
strewn among the beds.

I am not sightless;
I won’t plant geraniums
because there’s a ‘ho
in my garden.

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there’s time i want to take
some scissors to your hair.
slice it there at the neckline,
exposing our pale skin and
the blush of hair leading down
to your back –
then i could trail it with my lips
sliding down the landscape of your spine
suckle behind your ear,
swirl my tongue on your salt sweat;
my mouth full of your taste, i could
follow the salty line down your languid back,
my smooth fingertips trailing;
i want to take your spliced hair
and with my short fingers employed
ply it into a pliable silky rope,
use some loose strands to whip the ends
so they won’t fray; a smooth thin lariat
ripe with possibilities, like a prize;
i want to pull your arms up and with your hair
pinion your wrists to the chair
and while you’re so trussed inn that position,
fettered & forward,
trail my nails to your taint.
nip your buttocks.
watch you skin tense & release,
tense & release.
take my hair
in my milkmaid hands,
ply a cooling nest of strands,
cradle your sac in my hair.
as my teeth graze,
wrap my auburn netting around your shaft,
the silky red strands rolling as
my hands suckle your cock
as you tense & release.
tense & release.

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lunch break

let me be your pb&j
unwrap me & place me before you
let me be what you reach for at noon
with both hands
let me fill your mouth and get your saliva flowing
i know i could taste like autumn
taste like roasted nuts & harvest berries
salty & sweet on your tongue
like innocence and starbursts
like your first girlfriend
i could be the cream you like off your teeth
i could be summer days when your heat bubbles under your skin
and all you’re thinking of is sliding into cool water
remember how you would slide your tongue between the slices
lap a smackeral to tease yourself with

and if you want pb&j as a midnight snack
i volunteer for that too

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