Had love not been, a viable ware
Would it still subsist, on pittance alone?
Sex is that truth, which stands out bare
And wields its worth, bred in the bone!

“Would you fumble, here and there?
With brazen hands, and broken nerves
Or go all the way, sans your instinct’s fear
And pay that price, this sin deserves!”

“If sin be the creed, of your phony love
What you and me, would consummate
Your heart and soul, fit like a glove
In this fling of farce, I love to hate!”

“If I were to be, your mate instead
Would you still, not itch, for a girl on call!
If lust is all, that you care for, in bed
I’d ever be, your Money Doll!”

© 2017 Vikas Chandra