A Very Indian Affair

two strangers engage in wedlock
and fritter themselves into promiscuity
they boast designated insults
a lecher and a filthy cunt
all they wanted was to explore
each others bodies
their pretence to fall in love
it all began the night the white horse
got her someone to blame
she martyred her virtues
upon matrimony
slapped her hands on the sides of the bed
let out a piercing cry
as if his member was a doctor’s needle
next morning she called him a brute
for he had left her sore beneath her springy pubes
blood smeared the bed sheets and her thighs
in sticky mishmash, they were creatures of consequence
he was a lustful man and curiosity
spared her her ignorance
until she sprang back on her feet
feeding herself what memory she craved for more
under the moonlight she said for the world to see
how ample beneath her gossamer
when it clung to her skin
he stiffened emptying his eyes
and himself into her, it was a swift adventure
he slumped like a corpse atop her musky squalid
and she with a grunt like a cow at the time of slaughter
had had her fill
they were a match made in heaven
ploughing each others middle
at every libidinous impulse
until they ran out of the goodness behind dowry
which laid the first stone of his in-laws’ intent
to mollycoddle their baby daughter of twenty four
with hopes to restore virginity
lest his messy affair sour the sanctity of marriage
so it did
she was the reason he took up Scotch
and his was the guilt of pinioning her snatch
a villainous act, once the seed has been sowed
pronounced her mother
was bound to transgress tact and civility
they had spent each other entirely
calling names in a fitful blitz
until she heard the sound of thunder
the man he was had to reprimand her
she felt she was treated all the same
they heard the trumpets play the illusion of love
and the pipers let out a hankering for both sides
to employ society’s only cultured offering
on how to put an end to years of icy silence
the light had shone, he took his freedom
and granted her her preference
to fulfil papa’s pocket
with a precious precious grandson

A Very Indian Affair

12 thoughts on “A Very Indian Affair

  1. I am a little like Marissa, but more so. Honestly, I prefer not to have the rude terms so explicit. Just being blunt. The poem may have lost something when translated into baser terms.

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