My Roget

To me he was just, Roget Thesaurus,    
and I often thought of him as, my Roget,    
and took him to bed, just the two of us,    
and a head torch to guide me through his ways.    
     
Those rustling musty printed paper sheets    
that he and me often fell asleep in    
but he's an old weighty tome, not too sweet,    
and I'd often wake up with my arms aching      
     
Then one night when I was chasing some words    
all worked up with sleepy fingers and thumbs,    
I pocked my eye on his stiff spine and cursed    
all hurt, shocked, kicked him out with a big thump...    
     
I raked through the thrift shops and found and grinned    
A supple leather one sleekily slim