Expenses

They always say, wistfully, that love will make you blind.
That's the tip of the shadow of the truth that I find:
You always pay for sex, and one of the expenses
Is that fulfillment of desire plays havoc with the senses.
A lover can cook something fast food chains would label "waste"
and I, the fool, will eat it all, and smile at the taste.
If she works with chemicals, her hands, abrasive to the touch
May put most off, but their caress will turn my will to mush.
She may have a singing voice that causes rooms to clear,
But when she sings to me, the sound's ambrosia to the ears.