My Sheath

If God is my maker, and my maker is my husband,
then I am a wife.
But I am a strumpet.
I never let Him have his way.
My legs stay closed.
I don't bathe, I don't make a comfortable home.
I don't host parties or invite the neighbors.
And we haven't any children.
I keep saying that I'm not ready.
And God's a gentleman.
He'll never force me to be intimate.
Yet I can see by his smile that one day I'll be begging for him.
I'll bargain for a kitchen to clean, and a bed to make,
and parties to host and banners to carry.
And maybe then I'll drop the hyphen and take his name.