High-Noon, Muse Acclaimed Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

In the high-noon,
The muse acclaimed
Like the enigmatic moon
Of star-kissed flight;
Yes, in the high-noon
The muse hallowed
The wayward Sun
Coalesces with the forked road
And rampant twining.
The high-noon's harrow
Putrefacted an embellishment;
Let the flight of dreams
Be damned to sorrowed flail
The hale of physicality
Drenches a flabbergasted shrill
Of moony quagmire;
Impalpable celestial ash
A flotsam in the azure;
The parasol bends to the
Lurid wind - aghast, the scowling
Of thieves in the dawn's breath
Of equinox, an invitation
To a solace
I will forever consecrate
To mine sordid heart
The swift muse of nimble fire
In the high-noon
As her eyes are the size of the moon;
I am the flesh of the petrified foliage
And there she lulls me
To sleep in a thousand thunderstruck
Choleras only to haul me out of
This morose madness.
In the high-noon,
The muse - acclaimed
Like the name that lingers upon
Saints and the riotous seas;
Stars dislimn and the paths
Converge into a trifle sobriety
As the star-wine drunkenness
Engulfs the fields.
I speak of the connections
And fraternizations of the stellar
Kindred - even the inflorescence
Of the silently rustling leaves;
I speak of her name too,
As I kiss her inebriation - the unbeknownst
Among the nameless shadows
Culpable of the midday cripple.

Rubble of the trellis,
The travail of the travesty
Let this all be for naught;
The muse is nigh in the sprightly ides,
Here, love, you are acclaimed
And never forgotten.