How does she feel when he warms her
and inserts his flesh into her stoic welcome,
and under the garb of love intense,
robs her of her shame,
and drops into her a proud army of white soldiers -
marks of repression - all, in eleven minutes, and then,
gets up and leaves with no memory or guilt,
and wipes away the wetness - every sign of
his need - and holds his head high
as if it were an unseen dream? How poverty
often succumbs to hypocrites...
1 comment:
You have captured the reality of life in a terse poem. But, can this world be rid of 'hypocrisy' is the big question?
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