How Foolish Can We Be? Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

You taste his tongue,

His tongue of forked solemnity

And your teeth, gnashing teeth

Of grinding ambiguity

What is it that you seek?

His soul, or a purposeful flame?

A flame that two could play in a game?

Enlighten me, for these calloused hands

Foretell a falsely etched allegory

Of certain and veracious malady

-

Your teeth of marked accuracy,

His eyes of demarcated lust

Enmesh what the others could not reach

With hands of fledgling fate –

This prolix of a game should not be classified

As a mirth that is fabulous upon a wrap

A wrap of an emerald’s sliver

And the iron sea intact within a river

Hence the squalid treason of hearts

And scarce reason in a vague, disillusioned mind

-

Hath shall never kiss while speaking

With a mouth full of lies,

Drink one more rye from the goblet,

And anisette from her mouth,

The turbid rancor in her vapour cloys

His mouth, his lungs, grips them like a mother

Lest he shall go away, never to return again

Straying in a sea skewered in one forgotten memory

Of a kiss, and a revelry

A euphoria induced by an ephemeral fury

Give up, these follies are deadpanning

Panhandling alms whenever they need some saving

-

Null and void

A body without a framework

Ebbing with a cesspool of murk

Your conscience,

His body

Use somebody

Like reasons and aeroplanes

For one, tethering departure

To disappointment

And languid eyes of disapproval

The aftermath closes its mouth,

With its fangs clasped unto your skin

And urticating hair like arachnids

We need some saving,

Foolish, sinning behemoths.