The Pale Autumn Moon

How can I love her?

Let me count the ways.

The heat of her glare affects me as if I were an ejected baby bat left exposed on a hot sidewalk.

She is much shorter than a refrigerator,

But more massive.

Her laugh is the final word of a steel door

Being slammed rapidly.

Her face is 

Like the pale Autumn moon,

Occluded by a storm cloud,

Wearing perpetually, hyper-vigilantly

The same expression,

A studied I-dare-you belligerence.

She is identifiably human.

How can I love her?

Help me find a way.