Guitar

I close my eyes,

fingers runing along thin threads,

careful not to break the fragile silence.

The golden red body pressed against my own,

as I take in the beauty of its glossy finish.

My hand trails its neck,

sleek and black,

lined with silver ribbings every few inches.

I reach down and grab the translucent triangle,

resting it between my restlest fingers,

mind and heart racing in anticipation.

I gently run it down the strings,

filling the silence with life,

as the body humms against mine.

My fingers arch along the neck,

as my other hand strums along,

note after note ringing out

of an endless song.

This poem is about: 
Me

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