It’s a strange relationship,
she waits for me, motionless,
silent,
useless,
perched on a guitar stand
as I sleep and
take care of other daily tasks.

Sometimes I pick her up,
she sits in my lap,
my strong fingers
fret up and down her neck,
I grip her throat
And she thumps back in approval.

It’s crazy to think
I’m literally holding onto notes,
I can feel them beneath my fingertips
(My body’s sensitive place)
trembling in apprehension,
responding eagerly
to my every feeling.

I outline shapes and patterns,
strange looking things
that I’ve come to see
wobbling always
in front of me.

then I set her down
and she is,
once again,
a piece of wood.