I am capable of giving what is denied to me –
easy death and sexual pleasure.
Perhaps I am no predator or monster, but an existential altruist.
I give release without mutuality.
Of course, I take my price.
Today I have been released into an underground parking garage.
I wander beyond the ill-gotten car, on concrete empty of footfalls.
Peter has left me here in darkened safety while he finds lodging
and scopes out the town where we have harbored.
I had fed recently and well before our mad escape.
I have no need of company.
I do not wonder what I will find outside at nightfall.
I will find what awaits me.
Listening to be sure there are none close
to wonder about my presence here,
I consider my identity.
If I am always me to me, do actions matter?
Do differences in place, in those around,
in what I tell myself I am, matter?
I feel the call of darkness, of twilight’s fade,
even here, underground.