.
Afternoon of a Biblioparadisiac


 
Melted to incandescence by

The aroma of fresh ink,

Yielding stiffness

Of fine paper,

Elegant lines of the font

Of eternal renewal:

We are bound by language

As by other tyrants,

Although the torture

Remains far sweeter, even

In memory.


- David W. Mitchell
 

to David  /  to Moongate
.