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
I’m overwhelmed when he whispers,
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.