Immaculate

We grab one another’s hands with the ferocity
of kids making out
in the confessional
for the first time.

We swear by our sins,
twist fingers over fingers
until our heartbeats are linked
demonic.

Palm and rosary collide
and I find that I am not all that fond of
religion,
until you enter,
adjusting the white collar you are wearing.

I think about the candles I will light,
how many “Hail Mary”s I’ll have to recite
until we are both kneeling,
side by side,
making crosses with our right hands
while crossing our fingers on the left.

Skin meets skin
under rows of pews
and fingers dig in
on thighs,
hips,
and every single exposed inch.

What I’m trying to say is:
I’ll bow down,
kiss the ring.
Climb the steps,
beg for penance
if it means that by your body,
I am forgiven.

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