Dismal Butterfly Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

I am only your faint breath,
Your cascading stance.
I am the last fringe in your mauve dress,
And I could care less.
I am the only exception in your list
Of rights - I am the only falsity
In your perfectionism.
As the arid region narrows down
And transforms itself in an impasse,
You are a blasé station,
I am the only beckoning sentry
To watch over you as you slumber.

I am sure of this,
You will be effaced in the feverish aurora
Of the twirling Sun in its
Bleak orbits.
And there, I will envisage you
In the white, lamenting hills
As mirages of stark supplication.
Brazen, young musing
You are the light in the path I tread,
You are the loose portions of my satin skin.

You are the timid moth
Upon the dying gas lamp -
Slowly flickering, plucked out of
Incandescence and verve.
You are a gyratory vessel
In the sea of plummeting dreams
That I long held as reality -
You were the only genuine thing;
And you slowly faded
Into white light and left no vestige.
Flutter away, dismal butterfly.
Flutter away and sing my requiems and eulogies
And one day, we will meet again,
When both our boulevards converge.