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.