You will not know her

i.
I will not mention you by name
will not describe the curl, cult of dark hair
Wrapped between thumb and teeth


You will not hear the poet's
story in this
You will not see her
conflicted, green, dancing.

ii.
And by now
I am werewolf, tidal

And in daylight
Hackles. Fangs.
Sit beneath bruises and neatly lined lips.