He-Man, Hulk or
Hercules;
it doesn't really
matter
to me.
I wish you could see
the man that I see.
If pumping iron
gets you off,
or if it makes you
feel more tough,
it doesn't really matter to me.
All you'll
ever be
is the man that I see.
But don't lose your neck
to dead lifts.
And don't cover up
that tiny
little gut
You're so quick to **** in.
Stop smiling
with your mouth closed;
I already know
about that crooked
front tooth
and it's stupid
of you
to try to conceal;
I think
it's cute.
Your skin,
it's perfect,
your package is
thick with
all that testosterone
you're keeping
on tap.
You're always worried or hiding
all this
or all that.
Well, I love the man
that lives in your chest.
I love his heartbeat
his laugh and
his thoughts,
his dreams and
his wants.
I love him
despite flaws
and well-muscled arms.
I love him for what he knows
what he tries not
to show;
I don't love him
for the sinew
or the dense, meaty tissue
he's so eager
to tone.
I love him
straight down to
his bones.
If you two
ever meet,
He's funny and sweet,
inherently neat
and bounding with energy
'til he falls asleep.
He's smart and he's kind,
and he's got a mind
to do whatever
he wants.
Problem is,
his confidence
often, sets him stumped.
But when he falters his guard,
and comes out of his box,
he can spark
like a shock.
I don't just
believe in him,
I wind up
seeing clear through him,
and he is
amazing;
capable
of really anything.
He's fire
and intoxicating.

I wish you could see
the man
that I see.
Maybe
you'd love him.
And maybe put
a little trust in him;
it sure works for me.