One Cannot Ferret Into Emeralds Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

And love is like a radiance,
That escalates on a pile of laundry,
Or sifts the soul from the body,
I know this, but not in profundity
Because love travels swiftly,
With an alacrity that can pass through
Thorns and petals, stems and emeralds
I know this, but not deep enough to write
An allegory in a day, and a prose by night

Love traverses quickly – but not quick enough
Suffice to say, love is a stellar body
That slips through orbits, and stations
In the sun, or billows in the craters of the moon
Perhaps love is hasting – but not so much to haste
For to haste, is to miss its bittersweet taste
I know this, but perhaps some soul knows
Better than what a mawkish soul should know
How love travels, you cannot catch it upon one photograph
And you cannot comprehend it with one epitaph
Love is a tomb, love can be a hospital – but these are for naught
For love, simply is

Love is a gem, appraised and swollen
It is nurtured by sincerity, not by mendaciloquence
Love is a water, one’s thirst will be quenched
But not for long, for love is short
It is an imagery that one contorts
Pry no further for oblivion is lengthy
Love can exist at the edge of a cliff
Or the depths of a pit, young and stiff
With rigor and electrique obsequiousness
Love flies, with or without a harness
This I might be accurate – but not as accurate
As two souls that they find most adequate.

Love cannot be stopped with spite
Or an intention that supersedes over disturbed waters
Love comes, love goes
Love lives but when shall it grow?
With one mountain of snow, after the plough
Love is like concrete – barren or a mistral bayou
Love is indifference, love is nonchalance
Or maybe I am wrong, for love cannot be told by chance
By deeds or words of prolix delusion
If love is true, then what are these hallucinations?
One dare tell me, yes, in a prayer
If not, then folded hands must be tapered
Into shrunken shrills of abandonment, and a finding
By serendipity, by coincidence
Two sides of the coin prattled – one said, naïvety
And the other, a reason to believe in the drudgery
Love is, or love isn’t
That is none of my concern.
Love may be anything in between.