A man no different then you or I sat at his writhing table with quill in hand. He placed upon parchment many thoughts. Thoughts of his love in many different forms. But each thought melted within its own inc as each word was spoken by his own soul. Finally he thought about his love lying in the room next to his, and how she makes him feel as she wraps her arms around him as she drifts off to sleep.
Many times he thought about feel of her body as it lied there with in his arms. How he felt so wanted, needed. Then how there was thought of a new begging with her. But he new that this thought were no more then in vane.
So many times he returned to her as she slept only to feel his heart race making sleep forsake him. For a hour he sat there at his writing table. Then felt the gentle touch of love as she brought him back to bed.

By Jonathan Paul Germundson