Aristotle Would Be Proud

I heard a rustling in the forest
I sensed an air of unrest
My radar knew it
The werewolves smelled it
Bruce Wayne lives for philanthropy
Batman solves for criminology
Your body was tied in vine
While your mouth bit a cloth, thirsting for wine
No footprints in the dirt
Many footprints on your skull
I picked you up gently
Carried you onto my back
To the valley of nectar
We nourished ourselves with fruit
Then returned to the batcave
Factored with labels
Of grace and justice
Those labels grew to granite
Entrenched on the blue planet
Once unconnected on Mars
The batcave opened your eyes
The metal bars kept them closed
Although soft, those bars were
An old illusion from a sinking ship
I charged free shipping of laughter
Since I was Bruce Wayne
A giver
A lover
A thinker
An enigma
To himself and others
Including you
You charged me for your spirituality
Swinging beneath God's society
Rather than within
A concrete paradise, belying Babylon
I returned the invoice
Paid with cash, then bonds
Short-term, since decisions are made
Quick, in a superhero's time
One day, you defaulted, hiding your assets
I wondered why, but learned the reason
You matured before the payout
Unusual for the market
Perfect for a superhero
Justice was served