Not Just

You see it rise again.
No widow's peak
Or empty mirrors.
Still, not just a presence.

The cemetery chill.
The humidity a back of black cat fur
Rubbing naked skin.
Your purple blood.
The night is not a cover.
It's a cape,
And you are not the one protected
Or concealed.

The day is years away,
The time is broken in the hungry dark.

- 10/16/26

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