Ring Finger

The church taught me about purity.

High necklines, no padding in your bra,

“Saving myself” ring

Branded onto the left, fourth finger.

Say no, when he invites you inside…

The inside of you, belongs to a him

You don’t know just yet.

Abide by these rules, and His grace

Will flood you—overwhelmed.

But what about the grace of his

Breath on my neck,

The ache of my groin as he digs himself in

—deeper.

I’m overwhelmed when he whispers,

“Baby girl,”

Washed clean by the evidence of love

Spotted on grey sheets.

Pure, I think,

His manhood still between my legs.

I am free

Of the guilt I was chained to

In the years I spoke of my body

As a husband’s prize.