December this year is warm and smoky. 

It is on the tip of your tongue. 

I don’t need snow. Carry me to the part where you lay me down. 

It’s an everywhere party, all bright lights. I go out back and light up. 


The sun stays low in the sky, it is all bruised. 

You move out with the clouds and things stay just like they are. 

My thighs are the sun. 

I have been here for days in your shirt, in cold sheets, stained with cold sweat. 

And if you find me again I am not how you left me although everything is the same.