Scented Is The Muse Anew Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

Undulate with me,
Tired, cumbersome ripples of
Childlike hope.
We are one with the world,
But the world has detached
From what tethers us.
I own you,
You own what I am.
I am you,
And you are what I am.
Surfeit like the candid gossamer feathers plucked
From the days that spool
Around the reeling fountains
Of bursting pyrotechnics.
We are one,
You are mine.
And from the moment
That the erstwhile musing
Has transcended into the trivialities –
Do I pity them?
I surmise I do.
I am angered,
I am anguished,
But this will pass,
And they will pass
And they will be concurred
Into abeyance.
But I will not.
As long as my muse anew
Will be mine,
And so will my muse be.
Come what may in this tattered petals
Of obscured beginnings.
The next time I do this,
I will not do this alone.
I am not alone.