As I enter the room
my eyes are drawn
against all my will
to your hand
wrapped round
gently, firmly,
the guitar neck.
My own now feels cold
and bare.
Phantom fingers
stroke my skin
as I watch the real form
perfectly placed.
I imagine your touch.
Each finger makes a different note.
Make me sing.
Sep 19, 2014
Sep 19, 2014 at 10:24 AM UTC
As I enter the room
my eyes are drawn
against all my will
to your hand
wrapped round
gently, firmly,
the guitar neck.
My own now feels cold
and bare.
Phantom fingers
stroke my skin
as I watch the real form
perfectly placed.
I imagine your touch.
Each finger makes a different note.
Make me sing.
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