A Desperate Man

I fucked the guy from that Gustave Courbet Painting
there’s nothing in the world like Home
less Meth Addict dick. In my defense, he

stole my heart and my herringbone chain. I
tried to used Tourmaline to ward off my

passions. Prayed to God to deliver me
from the wolf bitch on my soul. My sister
said it wasn’t the greatest idea.
As it were, I’d risk becoming a prude.

There was something about the bridge of his
nose. I was obsessed with his oily hair.

It coiled tightly and fell flat on his cheeks
didn’t know who he was or what except


was most endearing, the night

we fell like angels
Unexpected and without poise, nothing dignified, just wilting

A freedom that could only be found between the hours of 1 and 3am
And I had to go to work that morning with a busted jaw

We fought because I wanted to go back to normal
When maybe he could just sleep on the couch and get clean
His dick was huge. This was a hard feat
and by this time we were fucking with no condoms,
So I was an addict too.

In my defense he would serenade me at my window
That was the time I forgave him for stealing my laptop

One night after torpedoing a gatorade bottle at my thigh
It turned purple before I knew it and knotted up
Took weeks to heal causing premature spider veins

we had a break this time and he fucked someone else
I caught trichomonas and I forgave him then
and I would have kept forgiving and loving

Only the evening he came home and bragged about how he found the woman he believed gave him the std. Said He told her pimp. That the situation made it bad for our relationship. “She was beat bloody”. He said with pride. Then I felt sick that I ever loved Him.

Jeanetta Rich is a poet and filmmaker  with work in The Feminist and The Quarterless Review. Black Venus FlyTrap is her debut book from Deluge Press.

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