Uttered words between thrusts
That linger uncomfortably for days,
Sometimes almost crude
As his eyes begin to glaze.
Other times I’ve heard his kindness,
Fingertips ‘neath my chin
Leaning back, muttering “how beautiful”
As he takes the view of me in.
Worst of all I’ve heard him whisper
Quiet in the night
Three words to which I reply,
“you can’t turn a whore into a housewife.”