From our breasts,

our men suck sweetness dry,

grow strong enough

to carry themselves away,

letting our love overflow into shriveled waste.

Emboldened by the fullness of our devotion,

our men recoil from reciprocity.

Grow tired of us,

yet presume our loyalty;

exhaust our consideration

until bitterness overtakes our bosom.

In our minds, we know love is not possessive

so we watch in silent bamboozlement

as our men grow free of belonging.

We wait, weighed down with loyalty and longing,

even as time enlightens our senses,

revealing we choose the love we get.

A girl gets lost in the music,

the blended voice

of the choir sings.

This is only a warm-up,

the sermon is still coming

when the old man speaks

A pew, or two,

behind.

You oughta smile in his house.

The words float over her head

as the visage is becoming

like stone,

cold.

The smile stretches her lips,

It is womanly exercise.

A girl laughs audibly

but mostly as performance

for the others in the surrounding pews.

This part does not feel genuine, does not come easy

all the smiling and singing along

She concentrates her face, taking instruction

Even in sanctuary,

there are governing rules and regulations.