The Seafarer's Diary; Berceuse: The Dagger's Tip Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

I reached the tip
Of this dagger-like pinnacle -
An unlikely tryst
For anonymous overtures.
Her lips ajar,
Her hair tousled in disarray
As the frenzied wind
Exacerbates in this altitude
That separates the siren’s beauty
Away from the putrid ebony sea
That she sings about.

Her skin glinted gold,
Her hands were dainty
And her songs are highfaluting -
A rhetorical riddle.
And that moment - a fabricated lure:
I tried to seize with my
Mundane saudade,
I now put my faith
In fables.

She stroked her brass harp
With her hollow eyes engulfing
Me as she fixes her stern gaze
At my entirety – a beguiling gesture.
She sang her siren’s allure,
The berceuse of the heavens,
The sounded alarm of the seraphs:

The sea stretches then sojourns
And here you are, seafarer
With no name to be called upon -
Yet your eyes are naked with passion
And your hands are tremulous
Like your lips that make out the silence.

And how, in this pinnacle
Cast away into the bosom of the shore
Did you find me? I am fatally
Ensconced here. I am the daughter of distraught,
The surfeit splendor of the sea.
You are a seafarer, yet, why do you look at me
With such flame that sets my soul wan and free?

In her prying tone of sententious puzzlement,
I’ve no answers.
Only breaths,
Both feet wanting to be there,
Hands yearning for entwinement,
Lips restive upon exertion of amour,
A heart brazen and afire,
And a soul – restored,
Away from the sea,
From the constellations,
From the taciturn waves

And here, drawn
Atop the treachery of this pinnacle
Almost close enough
To a siren and her berceuse
Like planets
Upon imminent collision:
The flambeau of the heavens.