If I Were a Chiseled Man

If I were a chiseled man
My pecks would burst through my satin shirts
And my abs would be nothing less than a six-pack
An eight pack, a twelve pack.

If I were a chiseled man
My arms would be tattooed with the map of the world
Arms so damn large, people would stop and stare
And say, “Wow, where did you get those arms?
They are the arms of a chiseled man.”

If I were a chiseled man
My mind would be stealth
Firing at a million miles a second
And there would be nothing that I couldn’t do
Or think through to conclusion      
That is, if I were a chiseled man.

If I were a chiseled man
I would reach deep into my heart
The most private of my private places
Where I hide, uninterrupted from the mundane world
Undisturbed and uncluttered, where my true self reigns
And screams out, “Yes, it’s me, yes me!”
Who can now chisel out a deeper love,
With an edge so pure it cannot be contested
As I reach out to perpetuity
As I seek your love to find me.

If I were a chiseled man
Yes, I would declare the love I have for you
No longer burdened by denial
​Carrying the runway of my strong solid back
Held true by my muscular thighs
A platform of emotional granite
Yes, again, that is, if I were a chiseled man

If I were a chiseled man, I could face my lies
And not be as burdened by the emptiness
Of a much too steamy August night
Serenaded by the thousands of peepers
Laying their song on this not-too-chiseled man