The bullet, that dissolves, in wine
Tastes, of your creed, smells, of your sin
Your insolence, feels, most divine
Your yearning, when squirms, in my skin!
“You Will, Not Come, Come Not, Will You!”
Flirting, with your longing’s, dimensions
Every dialect, sounds like a, spent virtue
Pain feels, more benign, than all poisons!
In the, glory’s mirror, I bare, to stare
At my, virgin skin, sans, your love bites
My splendor, squelches, in despair
Thru, lovelorn mornings, dark twilights!
As a, last ritual, I down, love’s gore
My lips, tryst with, tears of delight
More pain, hearts pour, in passion’s furore
May, Broken Goblets, Bleed Tonight …!
© 2021 Vikas Chandra