Corner Whore

"Hotter than the corner whore."
he states,
as I paste a 29 cent Elvis
to the corner
of an envelope.
The window dances,
waving dizziness about the room.
Sit down
my legs unable 
to bear the weight
of the pressing air.
Vinyl chair
sucks itself to my sweat
and I stick.
When I stand
my thighs will make 
that "snacking sound"
He'll give me 
that "corner whore" look
before he leaves his lazyboy
in disgust, to go upstairs.