Pen stroking paper,
Intellectual copulation.
Thoughts of you move me to this
Verbal masturbation.
These words I would speak to you
If you were here to receive,
But you are not, and the urge still haunts me.
My heavy brain I must relieve.
So on I go, writing fast, writing slow,
Writing fast again, I must follow the flow
To wherever it leads me. I am almost done,
So I stop and re-read. Then, like a shot from a gun,
This instinct rides on again. I smile and imagine
The look on your face -- direct result of this passion.
It all comes out of my pen.
I am finished and satisfied,
And then, later, exhausted,
Weakened by poetic drive.