Check out this bug. Check out how tiny it is. Check it out: it slurped on me, and it slurped on you, and now all our blood is all slurped together in its teeny tummy, and that doesn’t mean anything about us. It’s not yucky, it doesn’t make you a sleazy slut, knocking boots with all and sundry. Its vein juice is now made of double vein juice, but you still won’t do the underpants jitterbug with me? Our red petrol’s all mixed up inside it, keeping it alive, we’re having our honeymoon inside that thing, even though your parents don’t like it—it’s sexy, right? You probably want to send me to the great porn shop in the sky, but then you’d be sleeping with the fishes too, wouldn’t you, since we’re both packed inside that bug, if you think about it. Oh, okay, you killed it. Pretty cold. You got it all over your finger, gross! What did it do, anyway? Just gulped a little of your life sauce. Didn’t hurt you, really. You could still kill it. That’s pretty much what doing the mattress mambo with me would be like. Wouldn’t even feel it, and when it’s over, what’s the difference?
About Ceilan Hunter-Green Ceilan Hunter-Green is a poet, artist, and editor from the Pacific Northwest of the U.S., currently living in England. A graduate of Gonzaga University, she has been published in Reality Bites and Love and Outrage and appears in the anthologies Lilac City Fairy Tales: Marry a Monster and ThePeriodic Table of Poetry. She loves nature, ghosts, monsters, and guilt, and updates ceilanhuntergreen.com fairly regularly.