How tethered, to her, apron string
Dares maelstroms, stray kite, of my dream
In the throes, of her fall, my blasé spring
Whose sin, is it, our hearts redeem!
Unsuckled bliss, of her, aging breasts
I feel it, in my, artless lust
And wonder, how passion, manifests –
“Love ain’t, worth its sin, sans world’s disgust!”
If love’s, beyond our, instincts’ play
Which hitch, abounds our, hearts’ between
Whilst she counts, her menses, everyday
I’m still, her man, short of eighteen!
Beyond a boy, entrapped, in her underthings
I’m a rosary, in the fist, of my dame
An incestuous psalm, my sinning, heart sings –
Forbidden Flings Of Love And Shame!
© 2019 Vikas Chandra