Horses do not excite me, their taut
muscles rippling beneath their glossy
hide, long manes and tails flowing out
behind them, bit in the mouth, eyes wide
and focused on an unseen goal as they
race to the adventure up ahead.
Nor do men dressed in metal, clanking
with their protection, dents and chinks
showing where other battles have been
won, only making them stronger and
more thirsty for the next, and even as a gloved
hand reaches down to assist, their eyes
are already seeing the next adventure.
No, what I desire is a welcoming and soft shoulder
inside a sweater vest – half-off on clearance – resting
on a quiet porch with wicker furniture,
content to overlook a dusty road, out of danger
from any fire-breathing dragons or rogue
knights. Unless they be yapping pups and
a knight who always loses his race car shoes.
In that case, lead me, dear one, into the fray.