Spoken not done

* spoken not done *
Often said between the covers
Those endearments there shall lay
Undemonstrated by later actions
After someone has had their wicked way

Those words of affection and sweet flattery
Dissolve beyond warm cocoon of bed
Everything become so matter of fact
Warmth of those words stone cold dead

How many later have pondered
If those words were merely a waking dream
Because the lump that said them so
Has now become so obscene

Is as if in passion's grip
A lover grows deaf to own intellect
The one who speaks knows no better
And one who listens does not reject

So beneath the covers words pile up
And outside the bed frustration builds
Such hard uncomfortable words on which to sleep
Until finally to entropy relationship yields.