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Have you felt the loneliness,
of bees without flowers?
Petals to wile away hours,
and honey combs in dark.
Scribing with my quill. 
Looking out my window.
Cumming a night song of blue. 

Have you felt the quietness,
of a carousel without a calliope? 
Just turning silently.
Letting off steam.
Stroking slowly your cock. 
Embracing every word. 
Page two I begin. 
Precum drops.
Thinking of you. 

Have you felt the ambience,
of a jester without an audience?
Lines forgotten.
Like a jack-in-the-box.
Your dick throbs.
The crank is broken.

Have you felt the sadness,
of a pen swan all alone?
When cygnets leave home.
Trees on Persimmon ridge weep.
Seeping my tea.
Spreading my thighs wide.
Climaxing on page three.

Have you felt the presence, 
of your muse on your shoulder?
Your spectacles slipping,
over your nose.
Shuddering and tingling. 
Writing prose.

Have you felt insomnia,
lacking sleep?
Crunching for words.
Like a jack-in-the-box,
you fall over.
Page four.

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

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