He stood in front of me, wide-eyed
Nervously, he gulped down his pride
When I brushed his chest, he let out a shaky sigh
His forehead was moist, yet his lips were bone-dry 

I parted his hair and saw a rusted zipper
And beauty marks laid out like the little dipper 
A line down his left breast shimmered copper
A marvel of the improperly proper

I held onto the tab as we held our gaze
His face turned green with malaise
Crusted debris fell to the floor
As he winced in pain, once more

“Are you sure you want to proceed?” I asked gently
His eyes shifted with a moment of uncertainty
I watched as thoughts collided in his mind wildly
Subsequently, he nodded intently 

I pried open the hole in his chest
To finally see what he had been hiding beneath his breast
To observe his core undressed
It was no shock that I stood there, impressed

Rusted gears slowly turned
Scarred in places he had once been burned
With flecks of gold and emerald green,
It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen

Perfectly imperfect in the way it beat
I held it in my hands, and I felt its heat
An extraordinary muscle that is bitter but sweet
An encapsulating vision of a man, complete