It seems I have become disenchanted, and/or disillusioned
with the failing institution of the - modern woman.

Oh, I'm sorry - did I touch your hip?
while reciting poetry? - Such a very tragic slip!
Perhaps you should cry "foul" and away I'll go...
so you can gossip with your friends about an action so low.
I'm such a villain, apparently - yes,
doing my best to entertain you with a good show.
But obviously, the boy that stands right next to me
is so much more interesting... or just pretty.

Because he has that perfect james dean smile,
cheekbones so strong and a mind much less witty.
It seems that I have become disenchanting, and uninteresting...
for the shallow now seeks out her own kind.
Maybe I'm just intense, or eccentric perhaps?
The modern woman wants a man with no mind.
I'll take my pre-Raphaelite woman, with a maidenly stare.
I'll rescue her... I'll take that kitten up a tree.
And I'll wait. Because I know that she's there.
Somewhere.