vikas chandra

Is it me who sniffs, thru the comatose air?
The scent of a woman, mad as a March hare
Or a spent instinct, my impotence redeems
How could a man be me, whose manhood blasphemes?

Oh! Yet again resurrects, night, that aching, set free
Like a million tides mutiny, in my sin’s sea
How bare lies my soul, on a wrinkled bed
Yearning and burning, till desire’s dead

Come! Clasp me, to your bosom’s storm
Till I melt in you, we become one form
We again chew the cud, our bodies’ buffet
And gorge all we can, till our hungers decay

Then we count on, those love bites, turning gray
Strewn stale semen, I lent you, to spend away
Within heart I fête, in stone my manhood carved
Yet another day, stands a soul castaway, sex-starved

© 2016 Vikas Chandra

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