The Sin City

Must I tell you this is no wonderland of Alice. It’s a grown up and a more selfish place.

Sin City

I know of a place full to brim with sin. A place to be the original human. Vats of love portions magically refill themselves with the lovable. Men of flesh, young and loose, in skins of pink and slate flaunt in nude here. Erotic smells and ammoniac fumes fill the nostrils while the soles try balancing on slippery floors. Lose yourself here.¬†Fall, for someone will catch you. In nothingness, some hands, some soft lips – murmurings shall sing you lullabies, caress you till you moan. In that moaning don’t forget to return it back to them – hand for a hand, mouth for a mouth.

Must I tell you this is no wonderland of Alice. It’s a grown up and a more selfish place.

“Seek and you shall find, ask and it shall be opened unto you.”

If you have no business here then go away – no second glances. It is a matter of skin and touch. No visuals. A braille of porn will simmer you hot. Textures soft and hard will touch you on your thigh and a little above. They will tour your back and chest – flow with the hair patterns and body curves.

Don’t be alarmed, don’t cry panic. Don’t stir, just slide. Lose yourself to the endless night and do not count the hours. When drained, pause, dress up and leave. Do come back for more.

About the author

Mayank Bisht

Clouds, stars, lousy humans and romantic bugs, mushrooms and starfish are what I write about. These verses are fantastical dreams and twisted realities. A rich broth of many secrets, some as is and some tempered with. Be cautious before tasting.