Clandestine Meeting

Sporadic

is never her love.

Sending

the warmth of love

through her silvery beam,

she tousles my hair

And

like a staunch lover,

I keep my head

on her cosy shoulder.

Serenading for me a bit,

she plants a kiss

on my lips cooing,

'Oh! The romantic,

how long

you want me

to cheat my husband,

when will

your moon come

and

you will relieve me? '

My fingers

stroke her lips

to whisper,

'can't you come

to my world permanently,

I want to give you

sanguine colours of love?



'Elbowing me,

she winks

and

vanishes promising

that she will

come tomorrow

for the clandestine meeting.