His hands were withered and wrinkled,
Swollen knuckles left in the wake of arthritis.
The smell of musky laundry detergent,
Cigars and warm wood
Reached my nose as he picked up the guitar,
His hands betraying his skill as
A chord
As smooth as rain
Escaped from its depths.


Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741