Confession
Confession
Confession
by Aimee Nicole
Sins snake across this skin,
shedding each Sunday
with the promise to renew.
Penance because I live in
this purgatory and yes my
memory might wipe itself clean
of grocery lists and work-to-dos
and appointment times but
never could I ever forget
the wicked slips of tongue or
enchantress lures or
covetous licks.
Just lay there and absorb
each confession like you are the ocean
and I’m here to pollute you
with the trash that I am—
once innocent by ignorance,
then by denial, now by greed.
Editor's note: An earlier version of this poem incorrectly listed the title as "Intentions." The title was corrected on 9/1/22.
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Featured in our September 2022 issue, "Loyalty"