The Language of Swans and Stags

The Language of Swans and Stags

Women are delicate, sensitive

To the touch, to the word

Allowed a spectrum of vulnerability

Foreign to all masculine realms

Unspoken indirect desire for reassurance

That she is in the essence wanted

That her worries and temporal shifts

Are listened to, addressed, noticed

Women require attention.  Attention equals love.

A measure of nourishment to her femininity

To flower and bear fruit that a man is her gardener

And she will invest her inherent resources in blooming

Rather than preparing for the grip of winter

The paradox of the vine, is each woman is unique

in filament, stamen and anther, both adorned and shrouded in petals

Wanting a man to see her simultaneously with blinders

As if the man knows all other blooms link to the bush

But he does not look, yet she does in

Ubiquitous cognizant peripheral vision

Of her completion balancing the fear of similarity

And the bravery to accept her own beauty

Dignified in his eyes

Women want men to protect and provide

Support and stability in a framework of givens

Her rock, her granite platform to envelop her being

To stimulate a grid of options so that

She can choose to be the sun beam or the petal

Women want to know a man thinks she is attractive.

To be pursued, to be adored, to be fondled in mind

That she is selected above the throng like a beacon

Of magnetized committed want to dilate the energies of her fertility

A woman needs to know she has the latitude

To be, to visit on the fringe of irrational action

To make hinted at overtures of necessity

In substitute for simple wants and have a man

Treat them as mandates that he is there

As a man in full in her life for her

That her petals can part and she is secure

To blossom that burgeoning vulnerability

For herself, for her compatriot family

To know there is another who will hold the door

Before her entry, notice her three quarter empty glass

Sense the swell in her ankles and call them small

These above all make her feel feminine

Claim her womanhood like a bouquet

Burry her nostrils and fade away into the oblivion

Of being able to love passionately as a woman in full

Flowers as a table centerpiece,

A cooked dinner she assumed she would prepare

A task he handled that is no longer there

A love note hidden and discovered to differentiate the day from others

An insect abducted into a murdered cloth no longer skittering a thought

Across her mind that she had to enact her own battle plan

But there was her man, like a soldier of attention

Rewarding her for letting her guard down by being her guardian

A man like a sentry of tempered love on the wing as option

To ride the sway of her self-empowerment, warm air beneath

And cool above to lift and to allow, to do and to listen

The attention to the details in her temperament are played like a virtuoso to his violin

In these words, she is attended to, secure, and affirmed

In all her feminine bonds released into a man’s cup of hands

To reverberate her soul like a song bird glowing with each

Wing beat of her swan white and black dancing in flight

Glorious for the world to witness

Knowing he knew enough that she did not need solutions or answers

But simply space in his listening to fly

An in turn, a man yearns to feel the fire light glow

Of her appreciation in a spectrum of heat from the

Approximate kindled warmth to the smelting furnace

Of passion in range of these days, that he is her musician

Playing the strings and percussion skins of her body and mind

With the dexterity of prince and pauper, provider of

Platforms of gold and emotional latitude that allow her to exude

Her true Papillion form across shared skies and all he wants to do is witness her soar

In glee, in rose, in all this life he did propose

A kindness scarred with her love tattooed upon his arms

Rising for each day’s labor with the strength of her gracious face

To be his peace to know he has purpose and to release the man

Into his cave, to let him be and let him rage, alone when he needs it

Complete to scavenge the beaches of his mind to hunt or fish or want

A sanctuary in mental solitude that there are recharging moments

Where no one is asking for his blood, his time, his want, his sense of self

Before he is broken open, gone bust, because men are happiest when love

Is simply being appreciated for providing, not receiving

We don’t need flowers just a few words and sex

Time to replenish in a self-directed manner, usually alone

And in convolution to a woman attention is love

And to a man time alone allows us the energy to love you

A woman speaks and breathes indirectly for the energy to love

A man speaks and works directly for the resources to allow a woman to breathe

A woman does not want to be solved and a man is constantly searching for the tool

To fix, to address, to work and all she wants to do is be heard

And so an objective accomplished through passive voice

A listening ear, a so plain host,

A man folding in, when needing help, he is concave and we ask her to be convex

And her the same for him to show concern enough to ask and even more not to solve

To show the faith in the strength of the platform his love has allowed her to take flight from and sail in the wind of her own words coming out thrusting her up

That he is her bowl of hands to have them land, for her to shed this tragic weight

Of her days frustrations and all he wanted was to see his swan luminous like the sun

Illuminating brilliant weightless confidence like he knows her in his heart

So man, let her fly, give her your ear, and your objective is accomplished

So silently and she will rain upon you in feathers of appreciation

So woman, let him hibernate when called upon, leave a fawn by the entry for him to find

And be the vixen in his den, so passionate with a stomach full and a dream quenched

So diligent he will work in the morning