I sleep.
Though I care not to.
All my slumber yields is dreams of you.
My fingers always miss you.
In the dark they search,
Like a cue they look for you.
Searching for my muse.
Dreams are better than reality,
Only because there you are in my arms.
When I wake alone,
I am so sad for the lack of your skin upon mine.
Its a crime.
But lover you are my inspiration to rhyme
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