Sonnet for a Lonely Masturbator
With apologies to Anne Sexton
He wakes up once again—detached, dismal,
Dispirited—breathing quite heavily.
Loneliness now enwraps the room. Bashful,
He turns over, looks at the wall lustfully,
And mutters, “Then I will marry the bed.
She’s mine, my life. Let me kiss her soft swell.”
He feasts on life above the flowery spread.
He moans and he grunts; who can now foretell
What sinister storm clouds hover above
His soul? The morning swirls into daybreak.
He does what must be done out of sheer love.
Are there any words to explain his heartache?
Floating mutely above the hours so quiet,
His thoughts stop their age-old butterfly riot.
Sonnet by Bibek
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Written on 2018-08-10 at 13:52
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