A Letter to a Proud Woman

Your thoughts are voices in my head        
like a strange telepathy that vibrates like cymbals.        
Wild leaves of the evergreen in summer shadow.      
The time may come when everything ceases to have differences.      
That is when it ceases to have its autonomous identity,      
but you will always be a woman to me      
breaking the world with your changing pace      
like a free stallion trotting over open fields of the plain      
and watching with your attentive eyes that reflect moonbeam like silver mercury      
the road ahead diffuse into morning glow.        
I don't believe...      
No, I don't believe that identity could ever disappear because you wear it with glory      
and pride.      
Your feminist perspective steers from behind the reigns of my mind, and it is well heard there      
as co-reason to guide boldness and appetite in the allegory of the chariot,  
and being one reason within me, we are one soul  
as I am anxious to think anxiously about you day after day.      
Your wellbeing will always be my own.      
My ears' gates are open to you.  
Let the pour of words break the dam and renew this dry land.      
Love, preference, and a human interaction      
one-to-one democratically.      
This is all even ground.      
If you ever have the preference for standing on the pedestal and touching the stars from above the earth,  
there is one      
for whatever the caprice you claim
and whatever ambition you posses.      
Dear woman,        
I respect you.