H.R.H. Prince Philip
His limbs have shrunk. The skin is slack
And wrinkled like his balls have always been
Though it is paler, thinner than that sack.
The hairs that used to stick out from each shin
Evaporated years ago and yet
She still remembers him hunching above
Her, ramming lust to cause the final jet
He needed, Needed, NEEDED. That was love
As love should be. She cherishes that now
And tries to put the dwindled husk aside
When looking at him. She would love that plough
Again if it would work like when a bride
She took his thrust in planting. Now he’s shrunk.
He cannot get it up, much less shoot spunk.