I'm in love with the music
That my guitar makes
When I'm not playing it.
The resonant hum
When I pick it up
And the hard polished wood
Rubs
Against the sides of its case.
It sounds eager.
The hollow thump
That echoes in the chamber,
Percussive yet sustained,
When I set it on my knee.
The buzz
Of the textured steel strings
As I run my fingers up the frets
It changes pitch,
Lower and Lower as my hand moves higher,
Cut off when my hands are in place,
With a tap as I press down,
Steel meeting wood under my fingers.
And still it keens softly,
With a low and subtle vibration,
A quiet harmony of voices
From the strings and the wood
Unconscious music
Accidental
Unavoidable
And beautiful.