I called, for her, to bare, to me
My last night’s, half-done, conjecture
An alchemist, sans, sin’s alchemy
Is neither voyeur, nor, half-lecher!

She stripped, to me, bare to, the bone
My maid, my muse, my wife, my whore
As my, manhood rose, from my, lust’s tombstone
Resurrecting, passion’s, lost metaphor!

“Lest, your impotence, be insolence…”
She grudged, to death, an orgy, not to be
I sought, from her, seminal evidence
That – Love, ain’t beyond, orgasmic rites, of spree!

She spread, o’er cold bed, as I fathomed, in her
My manhood’s, faith, and fear’s, stigma
I sank, once more, in the quagmire
Of, My Asexual, Enigma!

© 2020 Vikas Chandra