tenderly, she plucks the strings- like fruits from the forbidden tree. one more christmas bell rings,- as she whispers a gifted memory. she strikes the cords of my heart; tearing, like trailing winds from a dart.
smoothly, she touches my lonely soul- with the attention of a careful barberman. she holds me tight, not letting go,- till the rhythm of her heart's song is done; she hurts me. but she hurts me right. so, i stay awatch, and dare not fight.
'but wait,' i catch a breath finally. her eyes pierce the windows of my soul. 'if you want to lie, then lie next to me, or lie in my arms and i wont let you fall.'
she says it will be all over very soon,- before she deeps my existence in pain; like playing a foreign song in a sweet tune; she breaks me, but from her, i can't refrain. 'here's all i ask, if you want to play,- let it be-fore-play-ing the wrong song okay?'
a guitar, stuck choice-lss, in her firm grip,- i hurt, but i'm hers to play and hers to keep.