Ode to a Lover


Thomas pulled himself from his lovers' arms reluctantly, the dead weight of the sleeping form beside him providing the only warmth in the stone bedchamber.

Reaching down beside the bed he found his hastily discarded satchel and extracted the sheets of parchment he had been working on earlier. Smiling, he read back over the notes and found renewed inspiration.

When William heard his latest work he would know it was written for him, of course he would once again proclaim him as a genius, but Thomas knew better. He was no genius, he was merely in love.


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