To Love You Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

</>The whirring of the gears of the fan,
The distant crooning of the crickets,
The lashing sharpness of the snide stars.
They are all within the distance.
You are perhaps, sleeping,
Tucked within your soft mattresses,
Safe within the walls of your extent,
You can sleep in the cold blue,
Or in the sweltering crimson,
And wake in the bristling green,
I will be waiting there;
You can pray and lament stopping the summers,
You can exhaust and grow weary of senescence,
Or you can perhaps, hide away tiny figments
Of sanity, of lost love, of false hopes inside your pockets
Of your eyes, you can keep the sunshine within your hair,
You can keep the moon’s tail underneath your feet
And go to sleep untouched, unmarred or covered in rain –
But then I will be there, for I am awake
In your somnolence, and in your wakefulness,
I disappear – for to love you is to ensconce myself,
To keep count of lost time, to remind myself of the date and
Hours spent in watching the passing of the arms of the clocks
At a point of reference –
To love you is to lose myself in a crowd,
To love you is to smite the clouds with reticence,
To love you is to lose myself theatrically
As if the fine lines of the strobes in a burning discotheque –
To love you is to go in a futile epistolary venture,
To love you is to wait for your ships at sea, and die with the grains of sand,
To embrace frailty with the waves, to whirl in a pool of obsession,
In a ciudad of hatred, in an island of saudade
I can come up with a handful of comparisons,
But nothing ever compares and matches to these little deaths
I have come to experience when I love you, for these little deaths
Prepare me for a transcendence that I have forged
Faintly with these two hands.
In the meantime, while I am still alive,
Drink your wine and consume the feast,
I will be here, in the shadows of ashes and wine,
Waiting for the Gods to rebuke you,
Until you are mine – again.