To A Woman
My woman is
a sad French painting,
feeling.
A chardonnay and cheap red wine,
contradictory, yet refined.
My woman glitters like the chandelier of
an old world building, clear and bright.
Graceful, sensitive, secretive,
forgiving of much too much and
vengeful all the like.
Wild,
ever wild,
adventures à la mode.
Waxed in all the right places,
with hair I like to pull.
Sexy, sure of herself and confident.
Cheers to you, the other half of me
I am sure to never
find.
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