As sun bled down, the Caribbean sea
And moon, shored up, my semen’s tide
A bordello, bearing a, moribund Marxist graffiti
Was this tryst, with an ethos, prophesied!

With smoldering breaths, on spent cigars
She bared, to me, Socialistic scars
“I am a, graduate too, still chasing job…
At nights, I sin, with a cynical mob!”

“On a pittance, of free schools, food rations…
Can a nation run, alone, on Communist passions…!”
Her tot woke up, to suckle, her blood
As I gazed at, last menses, on her bud!

Then sighed she “Sorry Sirree…! I strip to thee…!”
And I gaped, at night, with stings galore
With a hundred Peso, wrapped in, throbbing spree
I kissed goodbye, a Marxist metaphor
Yet echoes on…, haunting rhapsody
Of That Twilight Tryst, With A Cuban Whore!

© 2018 Vikas Chandra