A tousled mane of black curls tickling his neck
crown Sir Guy’s noble head.
His brow knits in longing for his heart’s fulfillment–for a
feckless woman child fool, but he loves her still.
Guy’s twin azure blue pools of smouldering desire, sear us with his unchecked gaze–beckoning us to love him.
We long to run our finger on the planes of his roman nose, stopping only to marvel at its linearity.
Stubbly or smooth, his cheeks bear mute witness to his mirth, or his smirk, whenever his mouth answers in accord.
And Guy’s lips sometimes speak falsely,
when their only truthful expression is found in kissing his beloved.
His neck is all sensual sinew, pulse beating his life force;
holding his head high and proud–even in defeat and disappointment.
Guy’s broad shoulders and muscular arms and chest display a strength
that belies his inner tenderness of heart–cloaked in black leather to shield it from harm.
For this man loves as deeply as he lives fiercely. And in Guy’s heart lives his love still.