Ode to a misogynist

Declaring war on
all things female,
you blew your horn
and regaled
an unfair win.

Except,
crossing swords
with lofty notions
and stereotypes,
she was bound to retreat
rather than suffer defeat
at the hands of a "boor".

I presume
there was a heart
once-thwarted
by one now
deemed a ingrate tart.

In her name
you sparred
with words,
spewing:
For all "eyes full of passion,
crimson lips, whisperings
and timid breathing…
I wouldn't spare
even a brass farthing."

And…
underneath those terse curses,
lurked a desire so deep;
an urge to submit
to female fraility
and be the
sentimental puppy
you denounced.

What escaped you
was: With men,
women go
hand-in-glove.
Couldn’t agree more now,...
could you Chekhov?
But then again,
it's what you'd
dub "petticoat logic".