My love returned to me today,
after two weeks absent,
poked and prodded by other hands.
Her slender neck realigned straight and true,
action lifted smooth as a lover’s curve,
that infernal buzzing G-string silenced at last.
She needed time away to reclaim her voice,
and now she sings,resonant, alive.
Her body hums with spruce warmth, a full-bodied embrace,
tone blooming rich like vintage wine on the tongue.
She knows I’m but a clumsy, average player,
fingers fumbling frets like awkward caresses.
Yet she never complains, her maple neck yielding softly in my grip.
She craves only to be held, desired, enjoyed…
just like me.
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Summary:
She is perfect in her feel,her look and her voice.....she's my guitar.
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Beautifully penned, Peter. Into the book it belongs! Nothing quite like the bond of a guitar player and their axe. Excellent write my friend. Appreciate you.
Damian
Hi
Nice lines.
Thank you,
Tremendous. I can hear the chords now.
You are so correct in comparing the guitar to a woman. Now, if I could just send my contrary wife off for a new set-up! Haven’t counted them lately, but I have over 20 acoustic guitars. Nice writing–I like it!
Beautiful.
Thanks for the like.
I could buy guitars just to admire them.
💋