Questions, Answers Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

I unraveled the questions,
But the answers were scant –
What they used to be?
The trellis,
The portico,
The plinth from which she stands animatedly
As if materializing into erupting, gyratory sunshines
That bypass the sectors of my blighted skin.
What they used to be;
The stairs,
The doors,
The vacuous classrooms
Witnesses. Reticent bodies
Dying to ignite with the fire
In between lost souls that yearn to be lost eternally –
Now found, but in the finding – one seems to be lost.
What they used to be;
Frivolous suede seats,
Carnal subcompact,
Exuberant windows,
Morose dashboard –
Listeners to these vows
Of now what seem to be
Wishes of abandonment,
That was granted – yet, only for one.
How I have looked and kindled
Like a fire that quavers in the bosom
Of her ornate core, very ubiquitous.
Very compassionate,
Very enticingly daring, dauntless
Like a lion’s leonine strut.
How she have looked and faded
Like the remains of a winter soiree –
Ashes. Wine. Snowflakes of dissident dissipation,
Very ephemeral.
Now, I have unraveled the questions,
And relished among the answers.
Will they ever be?
Will they ever come to life again?
I am certain, as an insatiable predating lynx –
They will never be restored.