The Woman Poem by John W. McEwers

She would outsmart me
She would dine on me
would be my downfall
and my windfall
the riches in my vault

I would chase her across Europe
on her spree of crime,
turning the heads
of statues,
stealing hearts
from the portraits
in the Louvre.

She would be beautiful
such that platitudes like beauty
dare not utter it the way I have,
as she would not be so forgiving
with others.

With me, she would be nuclear,
radiating kinetic sexuality
sensuality, peace,
exploding on a hair trigger
into diamond dust
and starlight.

With her, I would wear mountains
and walk through walls
and swing my arms
like confident comets
battering the dead planets
and silent dining rooms
and awkward car rides home
that some folks call love.

She would break me
and make me again.

She would outsmart me,
give me more platitudes
like beauty
than I could handle
than I could count
And I would think, for a moment
or a lifetime
that she was The Woman.
That she wouldn't shine so fast
and so far reaching
that I would be blinded
and in an inconceivable instant
she would be gone
with my Toyota.