clean hands and no trojans

Don't pretend you're Menaleus
and launch a thousand slips
of tongue in cheek
when I say your wife is sexy.

My sword is not sheathed
in the pink folds of her protective scabbard,
and you can forget me
when I go home, like any other man.

You see so little,
I wonder if I'm no one,
hidden in your cave
while you keep one eye on me
and I keep both on her.

or maybe this isn't
and another clicheed Greek tragedy

but instead
something more American
like baseball
where both a "Mrs" in the closet,
and a whorey little "Ms."
are as good as a mile
of hot wet sex on a Mediterranean beach.