He sat there
on the edge of my bed,
playing with the strings
on his guitar,
stringing me along.

Pulling me closer
with his voice,
beautifully bruised,
carrying me in.

The moonlight complementing
his every note,
every inch of him.

Buried diep.
Lost within a fantasy.
Lost in this room
with a melody,
and a voice
so addictive.

He sat there,
smoke and moonlight,
playing his guitar.