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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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