Why enigmas, are these, Friday nights
For souls, now known, to the, ‘lies of bliss’
Spent passion, of love’s, obliged rites
Between a penis, and a clitoris!

They lingered there, for quite, a while
One reason, many resentments
Her staling breasts, his plastic smile
Lost fury’s, newfound sacraments!

With broken nerves, of many days
In the, throes of world, and parentage
With last menses, manly malaise
They learn, to age, with time’s outrage!

Not spent, as yet, for life, that lust
Still dares, old bull, new matador
Redeems a pilgrim, love in dust
When Sex Becomes An Obliged Chore!

© 2019 Vikas Chandra