I dedicate this poem to Rex
Women are oft compared to a flower
But soft! Too vague is our choice word
More precise, specific shall we be
For specificity is a position of power
Shall I compare thee to a summer’s daisy?
Soft, slender and white extremities
Caress and stroke. Ending with a pluck
To seal your heart, thus make eyes turn hazy.
Her, is that which we call a rose?
Smell is sweet, but beware the thorns.
A spike is used to protect her treasures:
Face, touch and intimate mind-prose.
Is the Ms. an artichoke: to be or not to be?
Her disposition depends on timing, on approach
Humble gentleness rewards with purple flowers
Rude and preemptive is greeted with simple green
Perhaps flower still is the perfect phrase
Various flowers bloom periodically for all
A shape-shifting puzzle ladies are and be
Variety ’tis a pain that pays