Forbidden

FORBIDDEN



Every other night,
dead passion,
old, naked flesh
Ridiculously thrusting buttocks
until, with little cries,
a kiss of unwanted pleasure,
Taste the forbidden fruit.
Dead before birth
and dirty white;
An empty promise,
of a lovely burden...


But that night was different,
and so was he.
The fire, stronger
shooting, leaping,
between her legs
spread wide
in an unmistakable invitation.
The thrusting was there,
and so were the little cries,
a louder shade, perhaps;
for a passion had awakened
an old flame re-lit
as he spit his seed
and purified her.

- The Manoj Arora.