To All The Dames Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

To all the dames
Wrapped in gold,
Silver fame
And fantasy, bold.

Write you not on paper,
Write you not walls
This moment be somber,
Upon the lads that call

Upon your pillars,
Languid or full of vim -
Oh the dames, your wine cellars
They fill these lads to the brim.

To all the dames, stiflingly poignant
Askew are the lads with their flimsy hands
Upon the curves of a dame so rampant
That even the gods sigh in disdain upon lands.

To all the dames who wage a war
To all the dames with lips ajar
And to all the dames who pledged with scars
This be a game of mad men, a swineherd too farce.

If I were to love
All the dames
I’d be a shabby dove
Bursting in flames.

If I could snare all the dames
And let them shatter in one of the games
Then I could bathe with the tepid hellfires
And sulk in the moments of an embellished ire.

I wish not to love all of you,
Only to tell all of you in the strangest hue
That when the heavens roared madly,
The heavens ebbed in a tangle of a woman’s melody.

This be sure, there is a flame
Never to be extinguished inside a woman’s caress.
This be sure, such fatal sadness in a picture frame
There is a mirth to be found not inside a woman’s dress.

A woman’s breath,
A woman’s breadth.
A woman’s idiosyncrasy
Over lacquer and musical fancy

A woman’s sigh
A woman’s bliss
Never a woman’s thigh
Or a woman’s hot kiss.

And so to all the dames
These are everything I know about the majesty
There are certain deaths in the journey and the travesty
All for a dame, all for a dame.

To all the dames,
Good night.