Malingering Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

The overture of her
Breath lingered like
A revelry.
The aperture of her
Heavens deferred the
Phantoms,
And her french-tip lacquer
Reeked of
Arrogant oblivion.

Everything in you
Lingered.
From eyes cold and brazen,
To structures blase and untamed.
To the memories
Of every parcel of a riddle,
The enigma
Lingers
Like time
Or the death of beloved
Things and kindred.

But what lingers
Most is not the scent,
Not the touch,
Not the candidness
Nor the demure salutations
Of plucked niceties.

I lingered.
You evanesced
Right before time
Announced your demise.

But what of it?
You were transitory.
You were juxtaposed
To all the ephemeral things.

You didn’t linger.