Not a letter of Love

They took out their pens
And wrote on her body
Not a letter of love
But of lust
Her fragrance subdued
By flowing stinks of liquor
Her cries of pain muffled
By their lecherous jeers
Brains on their loins
They devastated a budding life
And when their inebriated selves
Left in search for their next conquest
Her shame her only companion
In a world where man will be man
And the powerful will rise
In righteous indignation to defend
Good names of the perpetrators
Victim she is not, asked for it
Others will say with a smirk
As if a rose bud
Resplendent in all of nature’s glory
Has the power to prevent one
From plucking her out of the tree
The letter of lust is for her to keep
In perpetual indignity