My Guitar
A beauty, she stands by the fireplace.
An hourglass shape encased in cedar
and mahogany Spanish taste
and I love her dearly.
Three decades of teary play on
strings that sting the skin and
burn yet still, I yearn for the taste of
melodious bass and treble chase.
Golden her face.
Her tone consoling, my soul performing
her inner grace, laid bare for all who will listen.
Placed or misplaced, in earnest
I christen her tone in song.
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