The man is the poet, the woman is the poem.
Men and women do not quite meet, like the earth and the moon.
The man is the telescope and the woman is the moon,
An orb circling, half-dark, and alone.
The woman wants the intangible, the man just wants sex.
The woman wants to run, the man wants his ex.
The man is never what the woman expects.
The man is the poet, the woman is the moon,
Who writes poems, too, to a different moon.
What can you say to the woman, or say to the man,
Which you cannot, but they already can,
In the outdoor restaurant, dusky blossoms for a mile,
In the shades of the earth, arguing for a while?
They cannot hear you, but if they could,
They would live in this poem. Which isn’t very good.