With eyelids closed, you lie there
large, capable hands at rest
across the gentle rise and fall
of your unremarkable chest
No chain mail, no emblazoned
shield, no dainty, pointy toes
no docile dog beneath your feet,
nor metal-protected nose
Just everyday pyjamas
from a sale at M&S,
bare toes and vulnerability.
Superman? Who would guess
You’re certainly no brass rubbing,
no picture-postcard knight
and yet I recognise, my love,
you are my Mr Right.