Songs For Georgia: #3 Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

Georgia, your epistles are stationary
But somehow, they sing me to sleep.
Their tiny susurrations are otherwordly
And the trance is highfaluting.
Georgia, I am girdled by the words
Pressed upon paper, your taut on the pen
And your prolix embellishments take their time
In relishing with the marvels.

I remember how time tarnished
Your colours, your eyes and your heart even.
You are juxtaposed to that faint lamp
And sometimes, I wish
That I was there, behind you as you
Pour your heart like a stream
Upon paper, and I will sequester
Every gesture, every breath, every motion
That you execute as you paint
This dank union into flamboyance.