I had, so many, on my wall
Now you are, one more, on display
Pinned butterfly, without a soul
Deflowered, to death, dare I say!
You were, the spring-tide, of my falls
Beyond a smile, and soft caress
Pure substance, of my, fond recalls
Not the spree, of flesh, with sin’s finesse!
Since we, transcended, our nudity
Soared far, beyond that, zenith of spree
How hard’s, to conjure, that beauty
Which once, belonged to, you and me!
New rituals, of ‘love’, we did learn
Orgasmic means, o’er, orgiastic chore
We forgot bliss, which meant, ‘to yearn…’
Is lust, love’s only, metaphor…!
But my butterfly, will never fly
For it learnt, to ‘die’, and conjugate
With the ‘kiss of truth’, and ‘bliss of lie’-
The Love, I Feared, To Consummate!
© 2018 Vikas Chandra