Can Men Be Sad, Dead Art Hotties Too?

We're all familiar with the image of a beautiful, sad, dead, young woman, especially one who has literally died of unrequited longing, in visual art and literature. It's a haunting, lovely, and heartbreaking trope, but it has often raised questions of sexism in Western artistic traditions. It begs the question, can't beefcake men, too, be sad, dead art hotties?

My novels both include beautiful young women floating seductively in eerily picturesque bodies of water, though they are usually not dead and often the source of danger rather than the victim.

The Grove of Thorismud is a garden of irrepressible desires which grows upon the remains of a hot, sweaty, passionate, dead hunk named Thorismud. 

Leirah and the Wild Man travel in a band of interracial, omnisexual faux mermaids (and men) who stalk man-monsters like sneaky, sexy crocodiles.

Because why not?