What tryst is that, which consummates
A man, in the throes of, spent deceit
Won’t you call it love, if it vindicates
A woman’s want, is a man’s defeat!

Spread out to me, in a seedy inn
With splintered lips, and wearied eyes
She said” How true, is the creed, of this masculine sin
It sells more truths, than a man ever buys!”

I held her sublime insolence, on my wary lips
I daresay, how she outraged me, with her conjecture
My manhood braced, for that, apocalypse
In which, reasons and instincts blur!

And a love was made, O the wildest one
Two souls lay bare, in black and white
She made me decipher, a man undone
The Woman I Had Last Night

© 2017 Vikas Chandra