Sinister Transit Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

If I babble with flattery,
In a foreign language about your lips of gossamer fuchsia,
Then I would have been culpable of abusive ardor
Because if then one lip up above would be to feast on,
A lavish banquet awaits me

If then, one luster, a star too jealous to quip
In a tongue recognized only by stars – blinded or of full vision,
Then they would have to kneel over, flat on their stellar knees
With heads bowed down, to eyes – your eyes to be exact
Because if the world would be deprived of luminescence
I would have prayed for your eyes and their existent glare.

In nights of lucid reverie, I tried – with my vapid arms
To capture one of the moments in my head and splatter
That instant into a palette of astonishing colours
So my own world would be acquainted with the splendor
Of the blarney engrossed in kings and queens – and with that,
You have set them to stones – naïve in strut, vain to see them try

But then again, obscured differences might have
Penetrated each defense and decreed that I become one,
Hopeful, lost maudlin in the plane not of the ethereal, but of lamenting funerals
Not of dead bodies, but taciturn half-lives of woven dreams
And fervor – feverish now, smoldering later, incinerating forever
Where am I to position my ashes – oh, ashen-faced fool?

Now, if I grumble in mysticism
In a language known by some, appreciated by few about your lips
Of pale cemeteries, I would be indicted and not consummate acquittal
Because as malicious, yielding malevolence, misuse and counter-prowess
I would be reminded of how I buried myself with every kiss
That meant the thievery of every gasping breath that spelt hope and not compunction

So now, ergo with deeds of foul-mouthed snakes
Stygian inappearance, they talk about stars of perennial radiance
And pristine vindication, look at me, a fool praying upon one, blinded star
For your return, in a gushing deluge of blossoming foliage and garden of whites
What mire ebbs in these chest walls garrisoned by derision, take it – one too many.
And so with one more light year, I disembody from what seems to be
The soul, meeting half of my body

And this one, I might know too well to uncover
Unsheathed – a staggering sword within a baleful scabbard
Shining a menacing one, I cower within its facile masque
I shall compare this to the night, where I am beguiled in a forest of
An endless lurking in the corners of my subconscious
Hoping like a fool, receiving like a marred moth with dust asylum on wings,

I never found bliss in all the parts of shattered memories and
Effervescent oblivion – Take me, sleeping train of foolhardy patina
And cradle me across the waters, astride through ripples
Athwart through creatures – kiss me if you must,
Teach me how to be a man, and better yet
Tinker me into a human.