I dipped my milky, star tipped breasts
into the night of his mouth, his hands
clutching my back. Into his dark, I poured
my surrender, and he became the reliquery
of my secrets. Shame is only what is held
back. It glitters in a good man’s hand,
the same hand that buttoned my shirt
and smoothed my skirt, composed me
again, unbuttoning my mouth, memories
lighting up his night sky and burning off
the dark of mine until, when I am empty,
we are both full, smooth, taut balloons,
ready to be let go, ready to finally rise.

by Laura McCullough

Other poems of MCCULLOUGH (6)

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