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Bottles and Clits.

“Why do you
drink when
you write?”

She asked.

“Because the
poems 
need to be
romanced…”

I replied.

“…just like
you and the
rest of your
kind…

some music,
a bottle of
wine…

then push
the right
buttons.”

“And that’s
all there
is to it?”

She sneered.

My attempt
at a little
humour wasted
I continued.

“Yes…
and some
come fast,
and some
come slow
and sometimes
they don’t
come at all…
but that’s
never my fault
of course.”

She smiled.

A simple
approach
that seems
to get me
through.

And when
I lay down
with the
keyboard
she gives
as much
as she takes.

Rolling
and
moaning.

Telling me
I’m the one.

Telling me
anything
she thinks
I need
to hear.

“So your poems
are like women?”

She asks
still smiling.

“Yes…”

I reply.

“…but I
trust them
for what
they are.”

And the
evening
heads
down hill.

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