The prompt, from Steve Pulley: "Arm wrestling as perceived by a poet in a blue funk."

There it sits beneath the lamp
The table, empty
Reft of cloth, naked
It waits

Hushed tones announce an entrance
And the doorway shadows
Disgorge a behemoth
Glowering eyes, bulging biceps

Finding what he seeks
The other, dour-faced, rises
Takes a moment to assess
Is his reign ended?

The table beckons
Both answer the call
On opposite sides, seated, facing
They gaze into each others' eyes

Was this the only way
That they could find to touch?

— Props to the CHPercolator list for the prompt
February 7, 2001