Frazzled at the day's end
when I smell her flesh
she curses my knots
and the two decades
of living the same routine
in kitchen and bed
and nowhere else to go
in shameless convenience
I look for the blankness
she kicks my image
in the little pool of blood
and buries my sex
R.K. Singh
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/burial-5/
