Don't go at my love willy-nilly
That isn't the way
Have a plan
To breach the beaches of my orgasm
There must be a full on attack
Technology more advanced than a pen is required

There are many approaches.

Come to me in the night and tangle me up
A web of your own invention
Success!

Come to me invisible
And pour chemicals into my brain
Success!

You could even try giving me flowers...
But please explain
(and don't use quatrains)
The way the flower uses light to synthesize a meal

Or my favorite way--
Observe me such that you can predict my actions
Know what I want
Bend things up a little, so serendipitously
"Coincidences" cause me to fall madly in love with you.

It's boring when you come to me in ellipses
And it's painful when you use your penis like an exclamation point over and over
It doesn't look good between these parentheses (I'm much more subtle.)
And you'd probably miss the point of what is written there anyway
Because a poet knows what he knows--and writes it

I find there is another type
A discoverer
A wanderer
There is a type who knows what he knows--and wants more

I am not a muse, and I am not a statue to be admired
I am not silent. and perfect. and completely lovely.
I am not easily written about.

The pretension of the poet is lost on the scientist.
While the poet makes declarations, the scientist quietly and patiently examines.

I would much rather lie facedown on cold steel to be pried and sampled. I would much rather know what the inside of my heart looks like than read about how it affects you. I would much rather be an experiment.

And poet, sweetheart, you just don't have the right equipment.