once, i kissed a venus flytrap
to see if i could ever love something so carnivorously
it’d tear me apart.
lip swollen & tooth broken,
i moved on to loving roses.
when they hug me i bleed,
red clots dripping down my arms.
//
later, i decide to never tell a plant my name,
to love anonymously, in verse.
i call my plants in Latin;
i distance myself from the modem.
//
know this: when you kiss a venus flytrap,
never look it in the eye.
when you kiss a man, this trick will not work.
he will want to love you back.
he will want to tie your veins together until your hearts bleed in unison.
eventually, this will heal your swollen lip.
eventually, this softness will consume you
& you will be so carnivorous
you cannot love without
biting back.
//
the first plant I loved was darlingtonia californica & it tore me apart.
the first man I loved was a writer.
sometimes I wonder if he writes prose about me
while i write poems about him,
too carnivorous for the natural world.
Maya Walker is an avid reader, tea drinker, and lover of words. She is the founder and editor in chief of Fulminare Review as well as an executive editor at Spiritus Mundi Review, and a staff writer for Immortal Journal. You can read her work at The Augment Review, Ice Lolly Review, Fifth Wheel Press, and others, or find her at the abyss of ink known colloquially as the Instagram page @maya_whispers_words.