Dire Manhattan #4 Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

This is the tale
Of sordidness.
How Manhattan
Gave everything
And stole everything
That was all of me.

I remember vividly
Underneath the roof beams
Of a Manhattan room
That burns with the heat
Of love
In every dead portion of the room,
Life beckoned
As we lit them one by one
In the flamboyance of
Lush flairs.

Now,
Everything was lost
In the heart of the cold
That was the Manhattan frost.
I see your vestige
In every pavement
In every hotel room
That sighed a dagger to the chest.

I remember hands lacing
Into labyrinthine locks
That never yearned to go astray.
The night faded, we didn’t care.
The Sun burned our skin,
We didn’t bother.
Those were the days
That love fought best.

The wine cellars are empty
From our mad drunkenness.
Everything that was left of me
You took it with you
And the night haunts me
Behind the Manhattan shades.

I am off to the airport
Tomorrow morning
And perhaps the tides will ebb,
And the nights of chagrin will
Effervesce.
To the direst that is Manhattan,
You are a city inside me.