They cease to amaze
It’s but a potpourri for the sex deprived
I don’t want any of these,
The old king died
In his sleep,
With an erectile dysfunction
The crass and raw desires
Humans, or bags of meat?
A scorecard, kept to count.
Twigs, they grow now
From the old morsel of the bordellos
The old glory is lost, the shah – dead
The concubines now closed
The streets not draped in red anymore
They are dressed in the glories on the new wars fought
Old wives tales, all that’s left