What makes me, a bewitched firefly?
Not a moth, for a bit, who begs to burn
In a borrowed blaze, of seductive lie
But for me, smoldering is, a lasting sojourn!

What’s worth those women, ever so content?
With a pittance of sex, ever-served with shame
I ordain my orgies, with a brazen bent
How afraid are men, of sex-assertive dame!

I ain’t sex slave, or a prostitute
Nor fanatic, of the phallic creed
Yet I long, for the fabled forbidden fruit
Whether not my womb, for the Adam’s seed!

Why is sex so sublime, and debauchery, divine
When aching souls, dissolve, in a selfless spree
If sin be the soul, of my blasphemed shrine
Won’t LOVE ever be, my cup of tea!
Was SEX meant to be, PASSION’S TRAVESTY!

© 2017 Vikas Chandra


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