To The First Affair Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

To the first affair
Infected with
Nothingness -
A mad silence
In between
People who remember
Only names
But not
The intricacies.

This is how it works.
The assiduous movements
Of the clocks
Will encumber us all,
Steal everything away
Until nothing
Is left.

Look how they
Crafted this thievery
So well.

They give me to you,
Only to relish
During the noon-time high
And in the night
The end will be nigh.

What is in this for me?
But a box of
Sharp, baleful things.

They make me
Remember your ways,
Your frailties,
Your ambitions

And

They make me a part
Of it so well
That I could have
Lived inside your skin
Way better
Than you do

And then they
Rip the dresses,
They smother
The bones
And let fracture
The night.

To the first affair,
I will never
Forget
How plush our time
Was,

More importantly,
I will never ever forget
How you
Undressed me,
Until nothing is left
But derision,
Mockery,
A whole crowd of cajoling
Beasts,
Laughing at me.

I will remember
Our lips made of yarn,
Our hands of solstice
And your dreams of vulgar
Contempt.

I will remember
Everything
As I take little photographs
Of you:
A picture of a wood
Meshed to a paroxysm
Of vines
Silken skin, putrid flesh.
All of this,
With your arms
Made of steely love
And cold distances.

To the first affair,
There is nothing
But the shadows
Of your impressions
In this empty room.