Sound:

The hum of a patient amp
wraps around your moving lips
A silent symphony screams in my ears
but grows silent
as the clean ring of a guitar
flows from your dancing fingers

Dial up the gain
I can hear the toast crumbs
against chilling marmalade
hear the sing of smoke-ridden lungs
with the crisp chirp of an early bird.

Touch:

Callused taps
steel strings warmed
from fleeting fingers sliding up
and down the brisk wooden limb
waking up from its slumber.

Soft groove of a joystick
sweaty plastic buttons
you were the exciting buzz
that vibrated in my palm
when I hit that combo