Glands

Am I the only man who understands
That men and women really are the same?
Do women mean it when they speak my name,
While men are fooling? Is it merely glands
That underlie the way a diver lands,
Or how a counsellor expresses shame
And heads serenely out, the way he came?
Who listens to those rhythm-and-blues bands?

Some women tell me I'm the perfect guy,
As cool and tall as any conifer,
As pure as any complete amateur,
And with a look of longing in my eye
That only deepens as the years go by.
I love my wife, but don't really know her.