Armor of Amor

He walks with a swagger,
smokes on corners with
casual aplomb,

sits stationary in front of the tube
feigning calm,
while muscle tension churns.

Across town she waits
in a chocolate haze
for the wayward bastard

to waltz in with an apology
or roses and open her
locked longing.

If not for Pride cornering them
they could have made up
but Pride barricaded them

preventing pleasure
and laughed
while life went down some other street.