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"Guilty" by Courtney LeBlanc


Guilty

I look like an unloved wife – brilliant

diamonds circle my finger promise

vows my heart is still trying to keep.

In hotel bars men buy me drinks and hope

for a night between my thighs.

Sometimes I let them

lean close, fingers grazing

my warm skin. My lips brush

their cheek before telling them

no. I leave with only their names

clutched between my teeth,

go to bed naked

but alone, feel guilty

for crimes I’ve not yet

committed.

*this poem borrows lines from thousands by

 

Courtney LeBlanc is the author of the chapbooks All in the Family (Bottlecap Press) and The Violence Within (Flutter Press) and is an MFA candidate at Queens University of Charlotte. Her poetry is published or forthcoming in Public Pool, Rising Phoenix Review, The Legendary, Germ Magazine, Quail Bell Magazine, Brain Mill Press, Haunted Waters Press, and others. She loves nail polish, wine, and tattoos. Read her blog at www.wordperv.com, follow her on twitter: @wordperv, or find her on facebook: www.facebook.com/poetry.CourtneyLeBlanc.


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