Substandard Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

Your father would assume your age,
The age of prowess and finicky senses
And your mother would possess the visage
Not of the entirety of reinforcements and women of bad taste

And there’s the plane,
A plane different from all the barren fields
That is as squalid as the rocks in morose caves
And the jagged rocks like teeth of mice squirm
And I walk the plane, to meet shriveled faces

And hands of soft, silk and satin chances
I deliberate my heart’s passion for something worth the wait
And fingerprints of grandiose evidences lose their scent in midair
And I saw a woman, a woman of such grace
And in the trance of complete flawlessness

I touched her skin, anticipating supple feel
It was as cold as a rock, and as coarse as its features