i'm going to write all over my body,
show you the stories upon the heart
inside my sleeve
i love books so much i'll become one,
just for you;
you can turn the pages with the tips of your
fingers and  read between the lines-
just for you, i'll open up my cover without fear
of being torn apart,
you can add your own writings,
i want our stories to interwine.
i'll let you press your lips to the bones inside my spine,
skip the pages, go back and re-read my lines;
you can hold me in your hands
or throw me against the wall.

i know i can be cryptic and maybe i ask too much,
ocassionally i talk in metaphors,
give you hints about the story inside my skin
but i also know you love that most about me;
i make turns and twist the plot just as i please
to appease the hunger you hold when i'm a tease.

i won't let you put me down,
have you entranced and falling deeper,
forget the sleep, the night will be for reading-
you'll crave me like an addict, desperate for
the next line.

come,
let me write on my body,
explore the passages inside me,
i'll keep you guessing, searching for the ending
but i know i won't write you one,
this is the one of you and I;
our one thousand and one nights.