She's nothing like the city sky
at night.
She is not a turned off boob tube
with reflection of a crest.
Can't be a piercing darkness
with freckles.
Nothing but a wave of night to sharpen the owls hoots echoing
the still sidewalks.
The opposite of silhouette branches before
streetlights manifest attention
from the spaces unknown,
lacking glow.
Never a slap of cold against the neck, or
any forgotten friends tumbling
on the ground to no end.
Contrasting the rest.
Sorry, she don't apologize for being anything.
~Tina Meeks
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