The Night That She Was Drunk Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

The night that you were drunk
Succinctly defined how I wanted
My desolation to be – In a number of people,
The thin smoke oozing from the strobes,
All the people lurching endlessly
To and from the incensed walls of the big
Establishment, and from there,
A stationary bar slept morosely
Underneath the somber embellishments
Of seething white cloths and jaundiced lights;
You were drinking, and I was drinking,
But you were cities away from me,
Still, I can hear the sound of your laugh,
I cringe when you shriek, and I still freeze
When I am reminded of your crestfallen face
When you said that you had too much of the Sunrise;
I may have been sleeping in the time of your
Bountiful sunrise and that is why,
When you were drunk with liquor,
When you were drunk with all my vigor
And amaranthine desire towards you,
You claimed you had too much that it was good for the night –
And I thought, this is how I wanted my desolation:
Your head pressing against my shoulder
Of bony prominences,
Your lips slightly parted and reeking of
A blandly mixed alcohol,
Your hand inside mine, I was holding you –
I was wrenching your hand so you’d
Wake up, but you were as good as dead:
Your weight was cushioning me like the whole world,
And I thought, this is the pristine definition of desolation
Because one day, I will be drunk, that is sure
Not of sunrises, but of sunsets,
And I will be careening towards the shoulder
Of my bed, with my deadweight sprawling
Across the navy green sheets, and there’d be no
Hand to squeeze my own, but myself,
I clutch my own soul to the plenitude
Of the thousand sunsets that fall into place
One by one – you are gone in the inebriation
And still I am here, fading.