“Men are from Mars, women from Venus”
doesn’t account for the excellent fit
of Venusian vagina with Martian penis.
Biologists certainly wouldn’t expect
so apt a relation in alien creatures
unlikely to meet, much less to connect,
which proves a nifty slogan wrong.
Our prime directive is to breed;
it’s small beer if we get along.
Our lives are shaped by ribosomes
that never spare a thought for love
or the conversations in our homes.
Women are Earthlings; men are, too.
Nature, indifferent to daily annoyances,
made us to mate, if we can, and we do.
Which tells us why, plan as we will,
it’s always a gamble to sit and gaze
into strange eyes, depthless and still;
we may find ourselves reflected there,
assuasive, warm, idealized,
as we journey off to Anywhere.