Chivalry is Dead.**
or so she said,
Each and every her who:
Thrusts that lance,
gives that look, which
pierces even my armor.

I am a Knight, of sweet
Of “Nice”
I am Just
not good,
enough.

Armored in dead, smiling fish
that stink of rotting morals
and whose scales,
whose scales have lost
their luster, their luck.

I should be so lucky as to find
One Girl
Who finds me,
Finds my fishy armor:
enchanting.

The last green scale glints
Opaque, as her eyes may.