“May, mortified bitches, never bite”
I had, faith more, in my metaphor
Just as, in a, predestined bullfight
Only, bull bites dust, not the, matador!

Those gropes, caresses, kisses, and hugs
And the, ‘passionate passages’, served with smile
Dare you, equate guv, with one, of those thugs
Who ravish womankind, with, gruesome guile!

The seminal need, of, phallic creed
Is free-love, sans, the shame, of skin
Since, God decreed, the manly breed
To play, power-chess, with, “Original Sin”!

Sex, had to be, man’s, Achilles’ heel
Instincts, perplex, penile prudence
“Who’s the, weaker gender?” facts reveal
Man gambles, all, for a dalliance!

“No man, is he, who falls, from grace”
He swears, with his, lingering phantasms
Machismo’s façade, falls off, his face
At The Funeral, Of His, Famed Orgasms!

© 2021 Vikas Chandra