An Anticlimax

Do you share the bed
with a perceived lover in illicit
borders?

A pink gestation
of a thought? Hands
holding a naked truth?

The winds were harsh, cold
and persuasive. And lake was
sending an obscene invitation.

You were ready to make
a jump, ending the speculation.
I speak alone -

in the arguments with
sooty bust of the sky.
Moon has no other name.

Satish Verma