A Love Poem For My Wife Poem by RIC BASTASA

When the time comes
That I become a very sick man,
Unable to do the usual things
Expected of myself and the demands
Of your sweet society, when I no longer smell
What men smell of women
Their underwear and underarm
Deodorants titillating to our masculine
Desires, when I no longer find
Motels as interesting places
To make more stories or
Those dark secret places of two hearts
Where names and age and reputations
Are irrelevant, when the time comes
For me to kneel and pray and
Find the usual places for solitary
Old men facing the final curtains
Of the play, please my dear
Be gentle with me,
I may have lied, and pursued
What made you mad
But you must know the eulogies
Of the rotten flesh and
Distinguish it from the hymnal truth
Of the spirit
I am not afraid to profess
I have not loved so true
Other women than you.