I used "spice Christ" in this poem, some of you know where I got that from and some of you do not. If you don't know then you are missing out a really great website with a superb bunch of regular snarkers.
Also, this is a prose poem, so there are no line breaks. Fair warning, this poem has crude language and adult situations.
6 Weeks With S.C.
"and that was whenever I seen her last," he remarks of his not quite ex-wife in our post coital bed. Oh my dear Bob, I've fucked an idiot. I resist the urge to correct him. We part. He calls and we meet again. Great Zeus, he doesn't understand negative numbers. Dumbass. He asks me if I am threatened by his intelligence and I reply in a kind manner instead of laughing in his face because I am not yet done with his cock. He takes off his clothes. My brain quiets down so the rest of me may enjoy him. He speaks. Shut up moron, you'll ruin it. I kneel and shut off his meager brain. He's just so damn pretty. The body I wish for Stephen Hawking. He pays for my cocoa at the coffee shop. He tries to hold my hand as we walk to his car. He wants me to meet his mother. Holy fat Buddha, he thinks we're in an actual relationship. "Fuck," I mutter. He replies, "we did." Sweet spice Christ, that's almost clever.