Certain Abysmal Things: Loved In Secret Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

Certain abysmal things are to be loved in secret;
The ebony glass surreptitiously
Filled to the brim with fire.
Your sleek chortle and your crowning equanimity.
The saccharine savor of your diamond-lace;
The savvy of your immense eyes - the vicarious moon.
I slither within your sinews, I fumble and stagger underneath
Your skin - I am the swift brook that rummages in your skin.
Certain abysmal things are to be loved
In secrecy. I sing to you, by the ocean-shore;
I am a mortal and they will find you at the core
Of my woebegone heart.
You are to be loved clandestinely
Like a warfare executed when everyone slumbers deep
In the ocean of cold, nostalgic fume.
I love you as you mar yourself with your
Crystal-cut peccadilloes - as you dream your dreams
Of fell verities and flourishing mendaciloquence.
In secret, I fathom through the seams of your
Fringed soul and your soul fills me with carnal contempt;
You stain my vestal eyes like how the tapestries
Are violated in a gush of sin.
I think it long and mad
That I love you like the abysmally forsaken things:
Unwanted and unnoticed, shrouded in the dark
With dank oblivion - I will love you until you are
Told over enigmas, heaved out of forgetfulness
And into the pillars of my own being until the nights
Collapse into impoverished mornings - bent and wry.
In secret, we laugh at the fault of the stars,
The acrimony of the moon, and the superciliousness
Of the Sun; Harried child, tender wind - I will touch
You in secluded places like a cultivated bloom
Past the saturnine trellis; I think myself a fool
When I love you in secret - my soul cannot contain
The secrecy:
My soul bawls and hovers, elated
With a love that I assent to; a soul clambers, inebriated.