Wrong Side of the Blanket

He passes colder than the ghost of my enemy
I declare his sin to the world
In every expression
Every bowed word
I wear his proud chin
His cold demeanour
With a smile
But not so well disguised that he does not see
The glitter of malice in mine eyes
The half remembered tempted
Curve of my breast
The swelling of soft cheeks
A fickle taste of the silver spoon

Ah Peter wouldst thou deny me thrice?
With yet no cock to crow
But chickens in the yard
Declaring thus, her!
His real daughter
Evil countenance in silk stockings
Lips less the peach and more the tarter
Hands more of linen than of lace

‘Forgive me Father for I have sinned’
I wished him dead
And the whole world with him
For a sack full of cloth and ashes
And a nun’s habit
Oh I know I should accept
Like mother who
Took his cold kisses
His quizzing lizard gaze
For love
That daughter, his
Sleeps late, while I
Build the fire in the grate
I bathe her pallid skin
In rose water

How her nose would twist at coal-tar
The rough end of the blunt spoon
That dragged me kicking from the womb
Landing in such filth and blood
As would never come off
Ah but I will dance delicate jig yet
On a fine mahogany box
For my basket is laced with more than enough
And all for my ladies comfort

Again I'm looking for feedback, more coursework!! This was inspired by a picture of a young servant who had a quiet dignity and a sophistication that belied her apparent station, so I invented a history, comments on lucidity and structure would be greatly apreciated werther posative or negative-Please pretty please!