we are all still looking for december
& i have born-again promises to keep.
but your lips are on mine and i am
aching, aching.

i always bleed under your kisses,
black and blue memories tattooed across my s(k)in.
i always hate them in the morning
and the way you wear me like a crucifix.

& though i can’t hear your apologies
over the roar of the whispers in my mind,
i can’t stop forgiving you.