You summon me in your dreams
with blood.
I do not know whose.
I am too afraid to ask.

It took you years to accept
I would never come back
quite like the magic
had promised.

You wanted my woman,
but got the snake instead;
the slow sloughing off of skin
I’d have rather left behind.

When you pick me up off the floor,
I do not twine or wrap or hiss.
I do not bite.

My cold, black eyes give nothing away.

In the silence,
we look at one another,
and you are a stranger.

In the silence,
I have my suspicions
that the blood was never yours
to begin with.


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