spanking joan didion
(for arnold.)
such, such are the joys of fucking a writer.
on hands and knees
panting, sweaty
debating the merits of emily dickinson's m-dashes.
"i (thrust) think (gasp)
she was a (come!) genius! (sigh...)"
legs in the air, in a perfect "V"
fingers clawing at the grass and dirt of backyards,
thinking about how often annie dillard must of touched herself
alone with her spiders at tinker creek.
dirty alcoholic sex
charles bukowski whiskey breath,
legs twisted, arms and hair entangled in a sticky mass of sweat
and lube and literature.
david mamet never moaned this loud.
collapse into heaps of flesh and fluid,
catching breaths like fireflies in jars.
"you fuck like flannery o'connor"
light a cigarette and smile,
exchange a knowing nod
and fall face first into sleep.