Poezja

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.