He takes his shirt off without
unbuttoning
and in the dead of night
when he goes for a ****
I see his silhouette
and think -
what a marvellous man.

We row a lot these days
and he is often cross
with the way I never clean the bath,
with the way I move,
and sometimes
with what I eat in bed -

I know I'll never be
the heartless soldier he knew before
or the gym bunny with two iron eyes,
He'll never be quite as blond
as I want,
nor quite as odd.

But still I look at his silhouette
dark and strange
when he goes for a ****,
and I think,
dear me,
what a marvellous man.