The Guitarist

I see you
sleek body of amber wood
deliciously curved
your lines call to me to pick you up
and play a tune…or three
I pick you up and place you on my lap
a perfect fit
my fingers slide down your neck
warming up
You start to hum so gently
Fingers deftly search out your rhythms
strumming you, strumming with you

Hold you tighter to get to those
hard to reach notes…the ones that
make it so worthwhile
We rock, we play soft, louder
faster, working together, in unison
we sing, my fingers reading your
body finding the right strings
that make you cry out
till at last, we stop
to rest…until it is time to
play again…


~ by Ron Usher on June 22, 2007.

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