Was it, ever hers, never ever mine!
In a, two yard shroud, largess of lust
Now stares, at his, forsaken shrine
A saint, clinging, love’s slipping dust!
A travesty, of, “Love’s Labors Lost”
Or a tomb, of love’s, lasting aftermath
Forbidden fruit, at, The Eden’s cost
Was it worth, at all, manhood’s bloodbath!
Neither impotence, of an, aging man
Nor those, blasé trysts, of vain conquests
Intellect tells me, with a look, deadpan
“Don’t squander, thy search, o’er fleshly fests”!
Yet when, pride dares that, prejudice in me
As though malice, yearns for, its malcontent
My soul, I sin, in my, heart’s orgy
Since Sex, Became, A Sacrament!
© 2019 Vikas Chandra