I woke up wild, soaked in nervous sweat.
I stepped outside and thought that I might howl
but found the clouds too dark to see the moon.
Inside, I felt the nubs of fangs put pressure
on my tender gums, and searched the fridge
for anything that bleeds, anything raw.
My clothes became too tight, and crescent claws
broke through my fingertips. "It's beautiful,"
you said, while floating down the spiral stairs.
I wallowed in disgusting joy and tore
your powder evening gown to ribbons. You fit
me with a studded leash, a mongrel beast
who writhed beside your feet and lapped the pools
of moonlight from the street. I loved the way
you made me less than man. I loved the way
you fed me from your hand, and told me good
when I was being bad. I drank the blood
of alley cats I snared between my teeth,
and dug the graves for each beneath the porch.
From what I can recall, the lust for meat
was terrible and sweet. We made dark love,
you sent me out for more. When neighbor kids
began to disappear, you stroked my head.
You watched old horror tapes for strategies
to keep me wild, hidden, yours. For weeks,
I stayed inside. I fed on bones and rot.
You sat in the window, wished away the sun,
and waited for the day they all forgot.
You asked of me just who is more depraved,
the monster or the one who made him so?
Your love's like blood. It coats my hungry tongue.
For reasons such as this, I still don't know.
Chad Abushanab's poems appear in, or are forthcoming from, Ecotone, 32 Poems, Shenandoah, The Hopkins Review,Measure, and others. He is a doctoral student of Literature and Creative Writing at Texas Tech University. He is the poetry editor of Arcadia and its chapbook imprint Arcadia Press.