Woman

   
A dynamic superpositioned existence    
With strange affections    
Diluted in various ways    
Seeking to absorb or entrap emotions    
Much like a spider does insects.    
   
A strange and vivid physical existence    
Made of flesh and blood    
Roaming about in billions    
With mellow-impossible-to-understand thoughts:    
That. Is. A. Woman.    
   
A kindergarten string    
Connects me to them    
From the instance their existence beholds my eyes    
But behold! I walk with a scissors    
Cutting strings from the FIRST to the LAST.    
   
I've got experience with this flesh and blood of an existence you see;    
They tell a beautiful lie with a pretty face    
And reap hearts out with painted nails.    
They see beyond their batted eye lashes    
And walk to kill    
For they kill as work.    
Then they GATHER and talk about MURDER    
In silent whispers.    
I found out to be labelled "Gossip"..    
   
Afraid I am of these likable creatures    
Who are physically much like myself    
And yet so very different from myself.    
   
So when I want to woo one    
Or again I fall in love with one,    
I'll just honestly tell her coldly    
Without a fuse, without style or guile,    
I'll look into her lovely eyes    
With intense curiosity    
And lay what is there of a truth to lay;    
   
"Woman. I love you!" I would say    
And then I'll look away    
terrified.