Tasteless Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

</>The stars sojourned into the bosom of the waxing night,
Where the fluid moon’s stark luminescence deplore
My hands that are cusped as if to fill me, a garish glass,
And imbibe the Moon’s slithering black waters –
I could feign to see myself famish in front of the mirror,
And watch as the shadows pass by my back one by one,
But not a single knotting mirror shall cringe at the very sight
Of the envisaged flare that boldly razes at the middle of the trenches
Of my transatlantic musing – look, at the distance,
There is a haze that gyrates around the empire of the Sun,
And from then on, I waltzed my way towards the scorching sand,
The moon has passed and the Sun breathes frugal heaves,
I am shunned behind the dunes – there is no solace in her desserts;
Exorbitant is her presence, from the decrees that fate had to make,
She is as servile as fate’s hound, but an expatriate of coincidence,
Of serendipity – I acclaim you, for you were an accolade;
But then, you hold locks but never keys; you are a bastion,
And I am the light, the tasteless and sparse light that escalates
Sluggishly among your walls of ivies that sling like your hair
Of descried prominence – In your seething ocean of flames
Everything was submerged, livid as my lips that you have bitten
Not to inspire a fueling desire but to break skin, I am a tatterdemalion,
And you are a princess with your coy scepter and sepulchral occult
That disenchant me, I am powerless underneath your sweet gaze,
I am vapid within your cloying breath, I am senseless in your erudition,
And I am but one fragment in your vast world of oblivion.