Blossom Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

Dare connive with the willow kiss,
You are the most enamoring of the blossoms -
Here I wait, under the Juniper hollow's inflorescence
And the bushwhack of the cantankerous ivies
In the dashing Summer nigh, here with
Petals on my palm, you brazen, agile child.

The autumnal acclaim razes this calamitous bluster;
Look at the yonder, the hills laugh in susurrating soirees
As the divine wind caresses the contour of the hills
The enigma of the forests kneel not in front of them,
But in front of you, timid blossom.

Outstretched are your petals of fire
Singeing in the noon-time high of the trellis;
The parasol bends to the wind, as the wayfarers
Trudge the lands, the seafarers abhor the strangest tides,
And here I am underneath the asylum resembling a lunatic
Waiting for your blossoms to whittle away in a dithery height.

I am forever enamored to you, flamboyant blossom
You are as precious as the thieving time, the uncanny
Dance of the clocks halts as your picturesque glaze
Strides over the futile lands. I will forever hold you
Darling accolade of the heavens - You are bequeathed
By the pernickety gods that rejoice with elixir!
I've no fear of the Sun's morose sear for your blossom
Is near, your blossom is here.

The fields bloom in a savagery of colours,
The crimson tides and the mauve azure
Dance to the acrimonious treason of the seasons -
An ambivalent wandering over the frozen tapestries
Only betroth the riddles to a far-fetched soliloquy.
And here I am now, in this soliloquized abyss
Helplessly wanting to be one with the skirmish
Of your petals that hover over the skived skylines;
I take little photographs and turn them into something
Genuine, a diamond-delusion, a crystal-clear fluctuation
Of blood from the veins girdled close to your roots!
The upheaval of the cynosure ebbs, the waves cede
And the pace of the wind dies in mid-flight!

I will frequent the avenues that hold your blossoms
Until I am inebriated as I sever the ties of the ivies:
You are the subtle breath of the tempest,
I've no care about the vale that slumbers in the darkness:
In the sprightly dawn, even in that melancholic twilight,
Or even in the deep, blue night,
I will tether myself to you - the only blossom I long to
See in the plenitude of small wonders in this prolix garden
Of intricacy.