The Funeral Of His Famed Orgasms


vikas chandra

“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

View original post

Submit a comment

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s