if i was blind
i could brush my hands across your face
whispering softly, maybe awed gasps
“you’re the most beautiful woman”
and you’d have to believe me
but i can see
and every compliment is a come on
every observation a yapping drooling reminder
of my predatory maleness
lolling rolling irises that have seen far more flawless flesh on a screen

if i was crippled
i could sniffle out a “oh thank you, it was the best”
when you pushed my rickety wheelchair down the leaf strewn lane
while you tucked in snugly my flannel blanket like a hipster FDR
our love warming the very blacktop
but i can walk
and every statement i make of my physical prowess is easily categorized
a narcissistic blurt of ego
a fuzzy lie to feel less inadequate
muscles untrained by combat or hard labor set to entropy
ready for only the most banal of physical tasks or rudimentary motions in a gym

if i was naive
we would sit one night by candlelight and tell our most sincere secrets
i’d go first
and you’d chuckle at the sheer innocence of my perceived slight
some long gone tale of a tiny rudeness or similarly small sin
but i am weathered with living
the possible abattoir of rotten deeds stuffed duct taped and hog tied tightly away
or maybe just the sheer boring nature of complete and utter indifference to shame
would just send the evening into disaster

no dragons, no pure wars, no tall towers with damsels shouting down for egress
there may have once been some mighty machine

that took in people like us when they were also merely boys
this hulking and efficient creation of gender roles and the mores of male
stuttering and shaking with steam and bright bolts of electricity and magic
it would spit us out men
heroes of lore
cowboys
gentlemen
stalwart characters of chivalry

i’m glad it’s gone