Bazi alis Subrata Ray
The Un-contented Mistress.
So many times I wanted to be raped,
In a silent whisper,
Under the dense cover of a stormy night,
By wild strangers.
My crescent moon, like the bud of a primrose,
To have a lippy suck up to the dungeon core,
A tease to my latent whore .
And when the spring evolved with monsoons' tide,
I invited riders,
To be ridden in their clumsy-colossal rides,
Day and night.
Hankering upon the imaginary portion of what might be,
I processed my libido,
To be torn, dug, hammered, stirred, and wined,
On dissection table.
The rubbing of the juice of my nature's will,
By cutting seals,
Of psychophysical tuned tornado,
I projected my prime.
So many, som many Tom, Harry, Dick,
Sick and weak,
Sparrow, street dogs, he-goat and rabbits,
And yet, and yet, -the old age did cause,
On the rolling mind of temporal time,
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