Senses   [ for the Senses Comp]

 I choose blindness
As my selfish kindness
To save me from seeing
What hurts my well being
I don’t need to observe
What I don’t deserve
I do not witness
Your moral unfitness
To be my wife

I choose deafness
My hearing bereftness
To save me from hearing
Their jeering, you’re sneering
The audible is inaudible
Some would say applaudible
That I don't have to listen
To tales of who you’re kissin
You’re still my wife

I choose to be touchless
That way we argue much less
Expecting spousal rights
Always ending up in fights
Touching’s overrated
Despite feeling well castrated
It’s so much better we don’t touch
I don’t have to feel his crutch
You’re not his wife

I choose to be Tasteless
Therefore I waste less
Production of spit
When you don’t give a shit
I’d rather not taste
Your wanton disgrace
Your lips – sudden death
His cock on your breath
I still want you as my wife

I choose to be smellless
Improving my wellness
Avoiding your stink
Of sex and cheap drink
His aftershave
You always forgave
I can no longer discern
The mist from his sperm
You’re my wife


I need leave of all senses
And to rely on pretences
Oblivious to your offences
Indiscretion sequences
With no consequences
It should be incenses
But with low confidences
My smile still dispenses
I still jump over fences
To keep you, as my wife