The inamorata is planted <br />Beyond in this distance <br />That even the measures <br />Cannot decipher in transatlantic fathoms <br /> <br />The establishments fill, <br />The train stations grovel <br />And time falters in specks of <br />Lissom time. <br /> <br />I am flummoxed in between <br />People who smile the most eager, <br />In front of bedazzling women <br />And auspicious men <br /> <br />It is in the moments that <br />You think of a heaven: <br />Farcical beyond construction, <br />And nonchalant beyond destruction <br /> <br />A moribund bequeathing. <br />The windows close morosely <br />As I am left here, alone with everybody.<br /><br />Windsor Guadalupe Jr<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/alone-with-everybody-2/
