until I’m consumed
making love to me
An old poem I wrote years ago and found while spring cleaning. I have two with the same title.
She sits and prays,
That her husband’s anger has died away,
She knows she is truly a disgrace,
For chatting to her ex-workmate,
When she should have been cleaning the house,
And keeping it in a perfect state,
So when he comes home from work today,
She will thank him through swollen lips on a black and blue face,
For pointing out the error of her ways,
So she will never make the same mistake.