Georgia's Harrow, The Silent Boudoir Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

Georgia, sprawl of lacquer, why do you face your boudoir
With that spark of a face - the aftermath of a beautiful mess?
You hold your cup of tea brimming with acrimony,
Georgia you are lovely in your thousand-fringed dress
In this night where there are three moons and the stars
Are either sleeping or hiding underneath the porcelain of your
Winter-ebb.

Love, I do not know what the boudoir holds in this mysticism.
You've come to know a plenitude of a shrouded stellar-carousal;
What if I touch your face in the morning and whittle away
Into the sleaze abyss that is the night of a flaring champagne-laced
Tête-à-tête where I silently hiss one of the overtures of your dreams
As you softly slither on my skin in a fashion of a serpentine, looming?

Georgia, you call me love as if you know no pang or the pendulum-swing;
Why, in this expanse of a dithery sinew - I have found you
Though not shunned completely, the deliberate fire of my veins
Rampage athwart my shores - you are a distant sea, and as the sea
Calls it be, the waves of my melancholia fritter and fritter until
You are near - so near that I can catch the scent of your symmetrical soul
Or the mundane cajole of your fragrant lips; In you, love lingers
Like a diamond hoisted in one of the heaven's oblivious islets.

Love I do not know what you speak of in this woebegone night;
Have we gone mad in this? I do not know the madness that sifts
Through love, but I know a love that sifts through madness.
The reminiscences sometimes knock on the door uncouth in manner!
And sometimes it sequesters a heart that has feigned a sturdy state;
I do not hold your equanimity, even so the moon that you claim;
Love how can I hold the bliss that beckons out of you if you are
As harried as the midnight rain?

Perplexity threads over your fulmination - retract your steps
Away from that boudoir - to tell you of love, is to speak so few,
And to commit you to memory, to consign you to my request,
Is to lattice you to the quintessence of this verve. Georgia, pardon
My inexcusable fragility - ergo I tell you, to be far away from you
Is to flutter away into the abyss that holds no doors - the impalpable
Darkness, the impasse and its brazenness - I am abashed, Georgia.
So tell me, if the world threatens us - where shall we stand?

I do not know, love - and perhaps soon everything will sink
In this inveigling thievery; Soon perhaps, I will hold no claim
Upon you, your entirety - and this tryst shall be sent to abeyance;
The Sun and the Moon will consider abatement and I will forever
Wander the streets underneath yellow lights, thinking of oblivion.
I can never craft oblivion, love - only time can tell; But we can
Build bastions to guard us from the void as the stars grow jealous
Of us.

I can hear your footsteps - your harrows carry the stench of amour;
Are you the amaranth that I have been praying for in the nights where
I genuflect upon the gelid floor as I hear the laughter of the shadows
Casting derision upon my squalid respite? Ah, my love, I hope it is you
And I can continue hoping and hoping - my love is the water that
Flows resiliently through the sieve of your being; Do not frown upon
Your mirage conjured, love - The lights rest asunder underneath your
Pillars - you are the pristine clarity of the shielded twilight; you need not
To do anything, you need not to color me with a flourish from your palette,
And there is no necessity to serenade me with cantos of love that will
Soon shamble perhaps in the river of nothingness - breathe for me,
As I breathe for you; I will chain these breaths for this salvation, this
Acclaimed sustenance shall thwart me soon.