Black Beauty

Again, the good night,
the dark night, the quiet night
has practiced its thievery.

Dark matter, that black
liquid sky feeds all lovely things
then eats them; 

your deletion a hole
from the same space 
from which it grew, deeper. 

After all, we are the uncivilized
watcher of stars. Wildness
its purest form, crouched

in its shadows, sewn
to its side.

But this night, even
with its most heinous of scars,
I miss you.

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