She's sitting on her cloud
Reading a book
Wish I had written that book
Wish I WAS that book
She could turn my pages over
Slowly, then fast, getting
Lost in the plot, rifling
Her way to the climax
She could peruse me anytime,
Lift me up, put me down,
And from cover to cover
Read between my lines
She could keep me in her pocket
On her pillow at night
Under her shirt on the subway
On her legs or on her lap
Only she can comprehend me
Many times she's picked me up
And then carefully bent me back
Without damaging my spine
So here I am again
Your little book
Open at the page
Where you left me
Peter Jukes 2003