It takes seven days for the week to stale
Lesser years for the rites of monogamy
Orgasm seems now like learning braille
Changed sweet sin how sensual alchemy!
Neither saints of love nor imps of lust
How we bare to bear those weekend trysts
On clitoral nerves each penile thrust
Feels like shared inertia that persists!
From passion to blasé sacraments
How ennui squirms in shame of sin
Where we’d farmed love now sprawls there spent
Banality’s bane shrouded in skin!
Lay moribund o’er wrinkled bed
A bull lost to his dead matador
Our seminal myth rots shred by shred
Since Sex Became A Somber Chore!
© 2020 Vikas Chandra