Gregory Abella Poet Romanticism

In The World Of Women

In The World of Women
She passes
For at least half-a-dozen 
Nationalities
Spanish? Moroccan?
Persian?
Perhaps Portuguese?

Rarely wears
High heels
Though she probably owns
Ninety-nine pairs
No fancy press-on manicured nails
Or Revlon eyelash gimmicks
Complexion perfection
Naturally cosmetic

And she is probably
A grunter and mumbler 
During sleep and slumber
Feisty snorts…frisky grumbler
For certain! For sure! She snores!
Obsessive compulsive disorder
Endless errands and chores
Always exhausted, the woman Atlas 
Her back pains, aches and sores
From holding up and organizing 
Her complicated world 

The woman who steals the blankets 
Favorite hoodies without remorse
“Keep it, I have more.”
“Oh, I will, of course!”
Shaking my head back and forth
With the hugest grin
I concede never expecting to win

Up close or when passing innocent
My inner animal 
Does not, will not, cannot ignore 
Immediately picking up her scent
Refuse, restrain, maintain resistance idiot! 
But peripheral gathers, tracks and follows 
A flash of her feathers 
Have mercy on me, what will it be tomorrow?

Much more so intriguing
Is when a glance is thrown at me
What in the hell are her thoughts?
Of what, is this magnificent woman thinking? 
Ohhh the complicated cognitive business! 
Of female frontal-lobe 
Mental mischievousness

I decline to share and dare not disclose 
To any living shadow, soul
The diamond thoughts you decide to indulge 
Everything stays between us woman
Because these others 
Are outsiders
SImple, pesky visitors 
At the door 
Rapping and knocking, botherers
This is a private area and floor

And I have chosen
My favorite feature about this person
Nothing physical or of the flesh at all
It is, my dear, when she 
Speaks 
Voice sleek, soft
The sound of her laugh aloft
The feminine manner of her talk 
Like if a woman–is giving a man–flowers!
I accept these and could listen to her for hours

So let it all out dear
You have my attention 
Absolute discretion
Concern yourself with nothing

In The World Of Women
All cluck and none matter
Not one of you will be heard but her
When those deep dimples give birth 
To a smile and conversation
Until further notification
She remains 
My earthly fascination

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