The Wind Which Stirred The Hornet’s Nest

May this passion, not be, debonair
To the faith, of love, its sacraments
Lest we dare, to bare, that sweet despair
Ain’t divine, that love, which sin invents!

Why search, for a method, in love’s madness
There ain’t, really any, in this one
There’s more solace, in this, storm’s duress
Than zephyr’s caress, in a, spent liaison!

Why heavens, should fall, o’er trysts of skin
When hearts, consummate, two souls’ unison
Sublime is, our sin, all the way, feminine
Why beg, for an ounce, of man’s semen!

Strange are, the ways, love manifests
In a, yearning rage, brazen conquest
May blessed, be her, riotous fests
The Wind Which Stirred The Hornet’s Nest!

© 2019 Vikas Chandra

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