Teach yourself to see her.
She is perfect the way she presents herself to you.
A woman is not clay to be molded by your will, or fancy.
Women are cloaked in armor,
the weapon of choice in her hand,
sister hawk watching over her from above.
She has eyes like the wolf.
Sometimes, she is crackling with energy,
her skin slightly damp, a smirk on her face.
Can you smell the ozone, an aroma of the woods?
Let her unfold herself to you.
Her fire is lit, and she'll share her passion with you
if you caress her just right.
She has eyes like the tiger.
Women are like water flowing through your hands,
happiest to run her course.
Glad to quell your thirst, or cool your skin.
Raining down on the green,
her storm can feed or endanger.
Her eyes are the blue of sunlit glaciers.
She can be quiet and broken,
feeling pain, or sadness.
An aching need to weep and grieve for a time.
Never mistake this for weakness.
Only the strong can tolerate crossing the bridge of sorrow,
saturating the wooden planks with blood from her feet.
She reaches the other side, triumphant,
and renewed.
Can you see a universe in her eyes?
Women may rage,
erupting with screams and cutting through you.
She's been frozen too long.
Imbalance can no longer be tolerated.
She seethes to find justice,
until there's relief, hurt has been thwarted,
a pact has been made.
Only then can she rest heavily, with balance restored.
Only the lids of her eyes now, as she sleeps.
See a woman with your heart.
Feel her with your intuition.
Love her with your soul.
Watch for every nuance of emotion in her eyes.
Then, you will cherish everything that she is.
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