Sing Me To Sleep Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

The machine-like murmurs
Of the clocks are ubiquitous.
The cicada singing an undulating
Wave of symphonies - dissonances.

I looked at the wall clock
And it was 1: 35 in the morning
The dark domes of the night were immense,
And the stars drank the
Moon’s vitality.
Mine, too.

Rivet me underneath
My blankets.
Stroke my hair,
Tousle it even.
Memorize the contour
Of my chin,
My arms,
My features.
But don’t write about it
Nor take photographs.
Only memorize it, I beg.
Sing me to sleep,
And sleep shall sing
To me.
Tell me stories of the old,
Or the young
And the infinite.
Wipe my tears
If I felt the pangs
As you narrate the stories.

Afterwards,
Leave.
Intended,
Or unintended.
Regardless.
We are just passers-by
In everyone else’s
Premises.

Still, sing me to sleep
And leave.