A little bit I wondered what happened after you were mine, but no, not mine, not as shrewd

as belonging, not as nite as possession rather I borrowed you, for a while, but less like the replacement for some faulty appliance, more like a treasured acquisition - a tome, housed in a library somewhere Ill never visit but might think of on some idle morning, as the kettle boils and letters drop forlornly to the mat and I catch myself ... sometimes... Im thinking - on a rainy weekend or a broken Tuesday which seems t for little else wondering where you are, and whos borrowed you now, whos inhaling the scent of your pages and adding a sentence or two, in a cursive script, much neater than mine I remember the shape of you, sketch the illustration, but blur the edges, I imagine a Technicolor version where there was really only a limited palate, as limited as my own at the time. But we painted each other in primary tones, stuck to the lines, caring nothing for the shades and the scribbles that would follow with time and with age. I kept you intact, for a while, painstakingly guarding your covers then passed you on, a good sport, to someone else who could decipher your wisdom, a specialist in text I couldnt read any more, After you were mine I wondered who youd lent yourself to and hoped his hands were clean. Stuart Crowther - a little bit, 2012.