To Be With And Without, By The Balcony Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

And you unlock the door,
Revealing the rancorous streets
The sunlight exploded on your face.

By the balcony, love.
Here I am, at the balcony
As you speak of the roads and their
Vicious malady;
The automobiles lined up by
The curbside, with their engines
Teeming with potentially rabid machinism.
A bird glides athwart, cleaving the sky;
Your eyes, mesmeric - hand upon hand,
Gnashing of teeth, lips and tiny teeth marks
On necks, scents engraved upon simian jaws
By the balcony, inside the room where
The contenders tousle a flurry in a mad melee.
By the balcony, love -
You are with me, and I am alive
As I view the plummeting depth of the veranda's
Distance away from the frigidly staring concrete-impalement.
The sun is as sweltering as your livid stare;
I wait in front of the balcony, with you love
For you are a woman I would never touch:
Only watch a cinematic sunrise with,
And run off into a thousand lingering sunsets
As hands are twined like locks and keys.

Perhaps, by the balcony, love
Yet again, this time cold and alone -
My shoulders each hold frozen brooks
Longing for the warmth of your fiery touch;
I can remember your sepulchral lacquer
And sometimes the moon's harlequin projects
Your miasma, the contour of your nose,
The fatal edges of your chin, your bony prominences,
You iridescent mirage - the autumn is an erstwhile
Apparition of the fire that is professed through
Your ornate framework now turned wintry, morose.
The rose that I hold, as I stand timorously,
Withers in revolt as I, like this rose, shed my life
As we fritter away into such a whirring oblivion.
In oblivion, we make no sound, only the nothingness
Shushes like a serpentine premonition;
Yes, by the balcony, love
You are not here - in your furlough, I craft trellises
So no other lover could enter, perforate this bastion
And steal me - regardless, love - they will never thieve
Me with verve, they shall execute me first in a caustic contrive
And there, my love, they will take me - lifeless.
They will never have my kisses, my warmth, my flame,
My winter gale even - and there, they will relish upon my cold
Body stolen from that tryst: the balcony where I wane through
The reminiscences, the rubble of our liaison hanging on for
Dear quintessence and a romance jeopardized by the thieves
Of time and circumstance;

In an abundance of existence and enthrallment,
May it be a thousand-spinning romances
Or a thousand-yard mutilation across the pangs
Of finding you, and losing you all over again by the balcony,

Still, I will remain there, undaunted and still,
Waiting for you to grace the balcony
Where we used to watch the sunrise and run off
Into sunsets.