Prolegomena to any future love poem

When speaking of the fairer sex,
surely we should cast a hex
at anyone who mentions love,
not having mentioned lust above.
So to ask of love we must
first consider: what of lust?

A woman standing five foot eight
Has many parts from sole to pate.
Wherein resides the hidden fire?
Where is beauty? Where, desire?
She, a specimen of mammalia,
might be sought for genetalia.
Surely, though, that can't be all--
although these draw men in their way,
she often keeps these under wraps
and rarely puts them on display.
Pursuing further: Who to ask?
Some men are driven wild by breasts,
While some men swoon for shapely legs,
And some gauge by yet other tests.

The sultry blonde, the tall brunette,
the red-haired lass, still more-- and yet--
one might insist: "These things are shallow!
A women must have brains and heart!"
But why should guts trump T&A?
Won't that pull her skin apart?

To find the throbbing soul of lust,
it seems we have no choice: we must
at least admit each part a role
in making up the lusty whole.

(Most should abide this collectivism,
except one struck by fettishism.
Such one might think a list complete
which mentions nothing more than feet.)