Iniquitous Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

Your hair is sand-strewn that outlasts every promontory,
The thin velvet clambers the iron hills of your dune-meshed excursion,
At the pinnacle of each one, the stars fall one by one, billowing salutatory
Sighs of a triumphant gaze among the saccharine face and sanguine stations
Whitewashed, your eyes were the clandestine among the blatant,
For in this night, my head is heavy from the erstwhile anguished nights
Jocund, my eyes were, in the bridges broken down, reduced to wails that are rampant
If there is a truce to grasp and if there is a tryst to behold, then where are the lights?
They must have fled the tapestry of your outstretched messages of departure,
And the same sky I look at in the morning, the pastel-hued wind that is helter-skelter
Your blithe should be mistaken for a postponement of your independence to procure
From my hands of synthetic porcelain, again, you are storm-crafted and glum caricatured
So I say this again, in the night woven with crystal clear fangs,
In the repose of your heart, mine wildly pangs.