The Man of Honor

The Man of Honor enters the buzzing ballroom alone
the smartest flanneur, reeking of verbosity and aristocracy
magnetic armor, tenderness an impossibility
The knight is the God-like creature we all have learned to worship.

The warrior may unravel stories of stoicism and sacrifice
bloody drapes a disembodied myth, wounds an abstract allusion,
a certain fascination we yet again celebrate, yet again regurgitate
as allure quietly melts into sheer, unattainable lust.

Yet the day comes when mythology collapses in slow motion
in a dimly-lit basement reeking of whispers and hesitations,
as Honor awaits, slightly anxious and attentive,
nude, vulnerable, his gaze a puzzle begging to be deciphered.

His wounds and scars are non-existent, as the armor is but a memory
His shame patiently sculpted into virtue throughout the years
decades of wisdom through trial and error
and the right dose of fate.

for F.+M.


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