Made love to her on a canvas.
Spilt ink with lots of passion,
across the sheets.

Caressed her curves and body,
in every letter.

Kissed up and down her thighs,
in short sentences and prose.

Tasted all her innocence,
without a spoken word.

Bit her lip and neck, pulling her hair,
in between the lines.

Wrote poems inside of her,
with my fingers.

Began with her scream,
Ended with her soul in my breath.
All it took was a pen.

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