Today is also the day. And tonight. And today. It’s days before putting in the fangs doesn’t make you excited beyond restraint. You strut naked through the house, you dance, you write, you paint. You slip out into the night, doing I don’t know what. I wonder if you’re hunting for the transfixed woman. I picture you taking other prey and cherish the jealousy it arouses in me. I wake at midnight to find your lips on my upper arm, framing your sharpened fangs.