Book Of Firsts: Roads Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

The streets were
Clogged with dreary people
Sauntering endlessly
On the prying streets
Of the capitol.

The arches of your hands
Were arid regions
Of abandonment
And I craned my head to look
At the drenched roads of the capitol
And followed the lines
Straight to your abode.
The roads were still the same:
Cantankerous,
Emptied,
Chagrined chasms
With forlorn creases
From the trembling automobiles.

Even the blaring horns took you
Away from me.
Even the slowly effacing sunlight.
You went with the auroras,
The moon beams,
The silenced stars,
And the conjoined constellations.

They took you.
And the roads,
Whenever I go home alone
Laugh at me.