The Walk of Shame Aubade

by Aidan Aragon

the moon, a loose sequin, dangles
from the sky’s slack-jawed maw

drooping lower and lower
with each of my heavy-lidded blinks,

feet dragging against the concrete
against the inside of my ear slick

and cold from the slip of his tongue,
like my satin slip creased around

my chest, cheap and smoke smooth,
draping over me like the memory

of his palm indented in the curve
of my step, how my thigh rubs

its sister, chafes against the memory
of his palm pressed, firm,

into that spot, red-pink-purpling,
inches away from where he slipped

us together, the feel of my legs opening
like a sunrise on a cloudless day, eyes

rubbed awake enough to slur together
the door’s opening groan, a cock’s

morning yelp, the yawn of his orgasm
a paisley blue handkerchief

to wipe spittle from the night’s mouth,
my eyes over this groggy city

folding into themselves like
a sock hung over the doorknob.

This poem previously appeared in Illumination.

Aidan Aragon is a queer poet and college student based in Madison, Wi. Their work has been featured in Peach Mag, Perhappened, and Cosmonauts Avenue among others. You can find them online @aidanaragon

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