Everlong Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

You may tire of me.

Like rue upon death
The dusk thwarted
By the gist of dawn

Like love and how
It cedes like smoke -
The mysticism in mirrors
That I have long considered
Fabricated.

The fumbling of the trees
As they bend with the
Wind, you may tire of
Me through fire and ice.

The splicing of bridges
And the disengagement
Of the constellations
That is how exhausted
They are.

Like the love-making
Over beds reach resignation
Perhaps they tire
Like a fire
That soon dies.

Even the poetry
Halts a travel
Besmirched by tongues
And fidgety hands..

Look here,
I am the continuum
The line in between
Heaven and inferno,
The far-cry of the heavens
And the berceuse of
The saints;

I can outlast cold
I can withstand
A scourging of vitriol
And even in the long
Hours, transatlantic
Dreams, I can endure
The furlough.

I will never grow
Tired of you,
As I smother you
With a love that
Sifts through frenzy
A kind that evades
A perfidious throng
Of flames, this will remain
Everlong.