The pen ached for his loving touch

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Several long months had passed
Since she’d been held
By her faithful master

She greatly missed
The way his warm hand curved
Around her well-worn body

Sections of her once shiny exterior
Had long ago lost their luster
And now began to flake and peel

His familiar rugged fingerprints
Still appeared in the places
Where she’d been gripped the tightest

Each spot a permanent reminder
Of the intensity in which he wrote
And the passion which he radiated

She continued to ache
For his ever loving touch
And dreamt of his timely return

But she soon came to realize
She was no match for her masters new blond #2
That fair young lady had the bite marks to prove it

© 2018 Michelle Cook

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