The Man Is Fostered Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

</>Love nourishes – like water,
It quenches my thirst, my thirst for your lucid waters
Or perhaps like a banquet, o, dear succulence,
Why do I look for you in the hours that I starve?
It seems that when I am filled to the brim by your
Impeccable amenity, I still hunger for you, like a bewildered beast
In a forest of vulnerable hosts.
And yes, love nourishes – like a prayer
For you are my religion, and I am as devout as the seraphs –
I genuflect upon your shrine that fosters your splendor,
I am lost upon your labyrinthine doors – I wish to be trapped
With a prayer upon my lips, hanging loosely, as it vies to linger,
You are my religion, and my love is a prayer.
Love nourishes – for it is much like the drizzle,
The tears of the clouds, the sighs of the Sun,
You enrapture me like the faintest cold dropp of drizzle
Upon the serrated grass, I feel rejuvenated, restored of my innocence
You are drizzle, I am a futile land that yearns for you.
I love you, and that alone nourishes me,
Though you made no sound as I enter your world-
You are hushed, with your lips slightly parted like separated
Fields with a broken bridge – How to cross, I do not now
Yet, despite the kaput bridge, still my love grows
You are the torch of my Summer, you are my winter snow.
These seasons, they nourish the earth and paint it with
Various colors – and I, apart from the rest, have been tainted
With the smears of your divine palette of colors-
Love nourishes, do not go far off.
For when you go far off, I will tarnish
And retreat to silent fields and protracted storms,
To not fade away, you are the air that bustles to the direction of my sail,
You direct me, like stars, like city buoys
And so, as you nourish me, as you fill me with your quaintness,
I am ambivalent as to whether this would last and stand the tests
Of time, of flaws, of seasons and of senescence.