Aubade Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

Heaven forbid, I may have loved
More entirely than the sea of true calm
And steely ember firing the heraldry.
Her heart is a tempestuous place
Aghast, the asphyxiating wind cleaves athwart
And the noon-time shrill
Compared to a lovely somersaulting eve
Of love and ivory;
I am saved - my soul clenches
To delve within its only verve
As the blood of its iron-willed ocean
Splurges all over the serrated grass;
You rest your head upon the shoreline's crystal
Fleet, the slow passing of the waves
The transient sifting of the wind through
The speck of sand and the dunes of time
I sing the aubade.
Rest in here, love
You are a flame far-fetched
A smolder too clear like the silver-thread
Of a petulant bloom in the zephyr's affable bluster
I take not, the long list upon the water in your blunders -
Lend me a morning bent to the careen of the forked night,
And I will utter these silent providences, the florid lights:
I am a perpetual trellis to ward off the vicissitude
That stalks the tapestry in a bastion of stone-clad ardour.
Watch the maladroit pangs of the pendulum swing
As the morose night ebbs into a nebulously singeing dawn and sonata
If the heavens think it blossomy like the susurration of
The exploding drunkenness trapped in the fringes of the garden's spite,
Then let it be that I revel as the heavens forbade
That I sing to you from dawn to dusk, this amaranthine aubade.