When The Moon Chokes Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

The night scathes,
Luminously striding past the ripples
And pools of writhing waters
Emblematic of a moon that's about to depart

The tirades of the night,
Defeats the day, in slivers
Fragmented onto the skin's havoc,
The feverish corona chokes the wind

Yet, there is something emollient
In the walls of the sacred and vestal night,
Maybe it is that I realize how sullied I am,
Inside this affliction, a terrible blight

Lavishing clouds that disappear,
Hiding themselves cunningly past stars,
Stars of dead relief, irresponsible caress
Ladies violated, gentlemen in distressed phases

The moonlight, of which lips I have kissed,
Entrances me, in a surge of blood ebbing in veins
The dais of ascension hidden in the effulgence of the harlequin,
There's a toboggan that shutters bones, and essence

I caught a scent of the moonlight's breath,
And I wish to die, in the reluctance of the sunshine's chest
Redemption crawled away, shedding integuments like serpents
If the moon embellished her hands, wrenches would soon grip me

Now my eyes, sapped of all light
Finding refuge like a lost raft on troubled water
Will never regain life, as the moon chokes, grasps like mandibles;
There is such innocence that cannot be restored.