I wash my linen when he leaves,
trying to escape realities existence.
Faint smells of yester-nights sins
mocking my repenting for forgiveness.
Comforter, sheets, pillow casings
Carry my wicked desires,
Pleaded for, over lonesome moments.
I take advantage of his willingness to stroke my womb
And indulge in the rapture of his brief companionship,
In the possibility of clutched frames.
I bath for hours to kill his stench while hot water skulls the musk from my frame.
Yet water rejects craving to evaporate his nectar dormant within.
My thoughts consume me
I wonder if the father forgives me…..