From Where Does The Wind Blow? Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

I am enamored
To you in an aesthetic;
An enigma, a bewildering entreaty
Like how I feel the wind during
The burning hours of the immense night:
Not knowing where
Or from what place it ushers from
Or in what pace it builds a flambeau

This puzzlement is the wonder
Of the prolix gardens,
The daggers that tangle themselves
In a mad joust - a hurling wave.
I am enamored to you
Like the thoroughfare that never tires
In a surge of festivities and pallid faces
As I grovel deeper and deeper
This I know, from a height that blunders:
If this will not be a flame everlong
That incinerates the entirety of
My chasms, my vessels

Lest I will find myself
Wandering all over the vale:
Cold, desolate
As I reek of death.