Truant Muse Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

I confess, that I am a fool.
And she will be someone else’s.
I am certain, with no false pretense –
This charade of emotions is stifling,
And there is nothing left to do,
But to love you, Nikkita,
For I have been a fool for long – long enough
Than you have ever known.
You will be someone else’s possession,
And he will tousle your hair to the direction
Of the summer breeze that rests on the mildew and
Serrated grass, and from then on,
I will be ebullient, for you are someone else’s,
And I am still yours.
In an asphyxiating depth,
In a vicarious breadth,
And in a wuthering height,
I still mention your name like a stable musing.
I am a mad man
In so many ways that defile sanity,
And you are a sea of nostalgia,
And I am but a drifting raft –
There is no light to guide me home,
To rest asylum in a self-effacing abode.
And yes, I know,
This I am sure, you will never think of me –
For you are someone else’s.
And from then, I shall stop thinking about you too:
Only little by little.
I will forget that I know my way around your arms,
Your flesh, how you rip my skin and soul apart,
How you left an impression on my bed
And from that day onwards,
I never straightened that fringe you left, still tepid
And passionate.
But then, you are someone else’s,
And I should save myself from this destructive amore.
You are someone else’s, and I do not belong to anyone –
For I still tether my dreams,
My hopes, my being to you, oh my truant muse.
But you are someone else’s,
And you have no use for me –
And so, you have stolen my heart – I am acquiescent
I will let you, for you still have all of me,
But you are someone else’s,
And so, this must cease.