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by Nick Kisse

One night, you whispered through drool on the pillow: 

The Venus flytrap deserves your fucking respect.


And after wrapping my empty hand around yours, I stopped to think 

about it. How the flytrap’s pointed mouth is a slatted window, 


letting its prey see the outside but never letting it go. And the cruelness 

of carnivorous plants - letting ants, beetles, and adolescent slugs


see everything they’ll leave behind at the end of their little insect 

lives. Never heading back to their little insect homes. To their little insect 


husbands. To their little insect children – 332 girls and 486 boys. In the little insect 

part of town that is just middle-class enough to impress their little insect in-laws. 


Never again meeting their little insect spouse down the road at the little insect bar. 

Never drinking little insect shots of little insect tequila with a splash of lime.


Never having the thought to hold on to those little insect moments 

before they dissolve in the enzymes of the flytrap’s slatted mouth. 


And at that point, I really did feel bad for all the little insects who stumbled 

into the flytrap, unaware. Bound to it for the rest of their brief lives.


But lying next to you, our fingers loosely intertwined like its fangs,

I can respect the flytrap, too. I've never been a fan of letting go.

About the Author

Nick Kisse is a poet from Detroit. He enjoys long walks on the beach, staying up late all night and talking, and various other clichés that you would find on your favorite generic dating website. But most of all, he loves poetry. Nick draws inspiration from poets such as Ilya Kaminsky and Dean Rader, and works to emulate their flexibility and playfulness with poetry and form. Nick hopes that his love of poetry can be felt in his writings, and his biggest wish is to share his poems with others who love the craft.

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