i loved your stories;
i loved that you were a story,
because i could read that book a thousand times,
and it would still smell new
each time i broke it's spine.

i wrapped my own words around the margins,
until every empty inch was inked-in.
i wrote my own footnotes
for each reference i didn't understand,
until i didn't know which was of my own hand.

i'd try and read it from right-to-left
which left me more-or-less in quite a mess.
i discussed it with barthes, and he said
it made complete sense (in context)
inside a house we built
which was planned in metres
but measured in feet
bad for furniture,
great conversation piece.

i loved your stories;
i loved that you were a story,
because i could read that book a thousand times,
and it would still smell new
each time i broke it's spine.