Compare me not to her,
a woman of a certain age
clothed in leopard print
who thinks she is a cougar
and you are her pliable prey.
Compare me not to Mother
sour faced hung with the weight
of her world on her hips
who would not suckle a child
much less the lips of a man like you.
Compare me not to your
first wife who hung you out to dry
when lightening split the sky
to leave you dangling on a tightrope
her lined eyes are painted with bars.
Compare me not to the façade
of a porn star should I choose to lie
with you and ask me not to
duplicate her coke fuelled sadness
love’s lust is not meant be this way.
But after all this you
cannot resist the need to compare
think of Eve, less than perfect,
cast out to walk with Adam and
dry naturally into dust.