The Slim Gilt Soul

His hair thick and shining,
His eyes kind and gentle,
Sharp yet soft, I’m pining,
The Golden Mean assembled.

Beauty, part his essence,
Graceful, charming, agile,
He’s Heaven’s fluorescence,
Delicate and fragile.

His fleeting effulgence,
Painfully illusive,
Denies my indulgence,
Its mockery abusive.

At least the Form exists,
Beautiful, not handsome,
Man as rough and tumble persists,
Though, he’s smooth and lissome.

Harsh masculinity,
Unlike other cultures,
Undue rigidity,
Patriarchy a vulture.

Beauty as brazenness,
Cult of the Sunflower,
Heirs of Antinous,
We approach your hour.

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