there was a man who wrote a whole novel this way...

a try at a lipogram...

walking in morning hours, sunlight drips across a girl's mouth. Sighing arms, hands, skin, hair arch up in a light full-body yawn. A morning or mourning bird vibrating a song along the window. Curtains swing to walls, and rays pour into a soft room and onto a fuzzy black throw hiding a twisting body. A moan of...'wait' but a clock rings, an alarm bursts, and droopy pupils grow big, and an iris bursts into brown. Aghast at a quick ticking and passing hour, a body thrusts its limbs off of cushions and balancing across on floor, sounds of slapping skip across old wood boards towards a bathroom.