POEM 162: SWEET SIN


With unholy fury, two soles hurry
into a dimly lit enclave,
and like sinful souls speeding to hell's abyss,
they get rid of senses and fabrics,
panting like a troubadour athirst,
gasping for pleasure like air.

Love-making, they call it, 
a failing and rising of hip-sters
to the humming and moaning of soundtracks.
She gives in to the pain of a first time, 
pangs embracing everlasting bliss
in a matrimony, unholy.
True, it sublime it is, 
but don't you think 'tis sin?

Beyond the phallic and vulva quest
are selfish desires we could put to rest.
We could of this hormonal unrest
fly moral flags in swift conquest,
hold hands in solemn quietness
and sing sacred songs and solos
until our carnal-clothed souls,
in virtues halved and luster spiced
be joined in sinful wholes,
in a matrimony, holy.

Wait!
It's worth it!
Processional hymns,
exchanges of rings,
vows that bind and kisses that are real,
should echo the herald of this permitted sin.

Cherubs, we ought to be in the arms of God,
Aphrodite, we'd rather be in each other's arms;
our souls unclad, 
our sanity hurl aside, 
our sensuality flawed,
for the allure we've seen?
for the sweet taste of sin?

As sweet as sin, this is
it tastes even sweeter in matrimony.

Wait!

- Stefn Sylvester Anyatonwu
#365DaysOfPoetry
#Pengician
#SSA



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