I am drenched My dear.

.....I am drenched My dear.....






The moon was not always this risque..
It never taunted me..
Like the music of a fading relation,
The passing night was never so spare...
We used to dream in each other's arms
You were always slippery
Like the morning Sun
Of an early December...Poetry is not written
On the face of a half burnt bread
I am drenched my dear
With the plunge of your love derailed.

 
By Satchidananda Mishra.