FLEMISH LOVE

Everyday the same routine
A cup of black awakening from African bean
A sunny yolk and crusty soldiers
As I stare out at pristine grass, flowers, boulders

The space outside under care of my wife
The woman I have awoke to for half of my life
I married her young, beauty, toned
But now skin sags where age is shown

But of course undoubting love is known
In my heart, in my teeth, my flesh, my bone

But now a love of passion is all but dead
As I am as useful as a turnip when we’re in bed
Although we desire intimacy
This has been slayed by my growing impotency
So that’s why I spit in her sandwich, so you see
She can once again say, ‘I have my husband inside of me’