Windsor Guadalupe Jr

Rookie (April 28,1992 / Philippines)

Your Hair

Your hair, a city of chestnut brown
With locks resilient like hands, steady ambidextrous hands
And the chamomile bliss and breeze in the land,
Subtly sit like an orphaned child

Your hair, and the enticing air
Twisted and curled, devoured by a cicada
With pointed antenna beaming forward
Quantum leaps and celestial bodies reunited

Your hair, of soft and cozy feel
Buried me underneath the aroma
Of coffee-laced and inebriated mornings,
In the strands of the rays of the Sun,

Hanging by a thread,
Dwindling by the street lamps that flicker -
Ensconced in the premise of the night
And the eyes resembling a masked crescent moon

Then it should appear to me,
Like a fire and a name emblazoned on pavements
Talking like puppets and mannequins
With shunned eyes and stationary stances

Your hair, not that I know of -
The surreal and bizarre complex
Of the strands and locks that entwine
With fate and time, leaving me dismantled

I feel naked underneath your hair,
And over your lips, your lips of iridescence
My soul, lit like fireworks in high spirits
My oh my, do I wish to be buried underneath your hair

If I couldn't see you, like time eschewing the breath
Of sunshine's mouth, and the prying moon
Then I shall think of your hair and not your feet
For it is in your hair, have I found divine solace

And when I run my hands and caress thy chestnut brown
Of a hair so delighted by the chandeliers and lamps,
I feel my soul runaway in the impasse, the opaque tunnel
Your hair not of the arbitrator, not the trivial, but the certain

Your hair of enthralling fragrance and glowing with poise
Like stellar eyes in the dead azure, not resurrected
I long for your hair, and for your soul, like water flowing endlessly
And perhaps my love for you, on a mountainside streaming like a river.

Submitted: Friday, August 05, 2011
Edited: Tuesday, August 09, 2011

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