for Geof, who struts and strips with grace

The mask slips down, a satin sigh.
No spell remains, no need to lie.
The hush dissolves, the crowd exhales,
And you emerge with softer tales.

No longer cloaked in velvet tease,
You stand in daylight, raw with ease.
Your lips unsealed, your truth unbound,
A voice that shakes the underground.

The swingy things now gently rest.
Your chest exposed, your heart confessed.
No Charisma buff, no sleight of hand,
Just Geof, who dares to proudly stand.

You speak of ropes and chosen kin,
Of spiral maps and joy within.
Of bottoms bold and mirrors clear,
Of laughter laced with kink and cheer.

The mask was tool, not final form,
You are the storm, the hush, the warm.
You are the ritual, not the guise.
The wink, the ache, the healing rise.

So let them see the lines, the gleam.
The poet past the Pride-day dream.
Unmasked, you’re not undone; you’re more:
A living myth, a hearts encore.