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2021-03-14, poems

Never Fuck a Writer

from the socialite’s townhouse
to the ditzy girl’s bed
to the unspoken tension
to the well-spoken passion

west thirty-fourth forsyth saint marks east third

another night up till 4 am

i have one rule,” she said, and it’s to never fuck a writer.”

she laid naked on my chest and i asked her who made her create this rule.

this writer boy who was a manipulative sociopath and i found out he was in a sex cult.”

i suggested she not fuck men who are in sex cults, but writers are might be okay, and she said:

yes, i know, i want to fuck you, but i like the way it sounds: never fuck a writer, start to finish, it’s a bad idea.”

my red flag is: writer her red flag:

slashes on her stomach, self inflicted cuts i gently kiss around,

she has voodoo dolls and herself, she likes to feel pain, she’d like me to hold her neck harder,

i don’t have any rules of my own, not against a woman who would cut herself and would cut me, too, if given the chance

she is more than she will ever acknowledge, she knows how to tell a story, and would be a better writer than me if her pen ever hit paper.