Words etched into the wall (above)
by the augmented fifth
Merely (below) displaced fifth
Blistering drywall
Voweling (in) out the love song
Caramelizing (out) paint
German Shepherd tilts
his (between) her head
Doesn't quite like (around)
The augmented fifth

The guitar makes my heart sing in melody,
giving me a remedy of specialty.
Somehow it calls to me desperately,
telling me endlessly its my destiny.

The guitar and I have chemistry,
Somehow the guitar is a legacy.
The music of the guitar makes me breathless,
making me feel weightless.

I feel light-headed to be exact,
its making me relaxed.
This attraction,
this passion,
Its electrifying.
Its what I dreamed for, for so long.

~Niko

My hands caress the back of her neck
-- her curves leave little to be desired.
There are six keys to her heart
and I know just how to turn each of them
the right way.
I stroke her gently,
causing her to cry out with pleasure.

Beauty incarnate,
she shines like a rising sun
-- the centerpiece of the party
-- always there for me,
with her flawless melody.

Strings sing blunder when
I'd wished you were there a cold,
Cold night years prior.

With manly aggravations he strums-

Strums the rust and the anguish away from the strings.

I saw them, floating away from him; vibrating in midair

Those compositions from his melancholy days,

Echoing...

The notes have, somehow, reverberated through my cathedral soul-

I can feel them.

I could still locate the ringing at the ceiling of my skull.

And if I wish to
I could even feel the faint tremors in my heart-

And realize it's actually pulsating...

But surely, it's just an after shock from the sounds resonating

It would fade away.

Of course it will just fade away.

It would fade away the moment he
stops playing.

every time his voice filled my ears
my heart strings vibrated
so he gently plucked or strummed
to match his ballads

but as days passed
with his playing and vocals getting rougher
his fingers bled and scarred
and then i snapped

gone was the singing boy
his beautiful guitar
but you can still see them love
whenever you hear their song

I’ve studied the lore of your Dark Arts.
I’ve read the book; I’ve learned it by heart.
But try as I may, I can’t play the part.

Though I know spells, and magic potions,
and practice the craft, with much devotion,
of the powers you wield, I haven’t a notion.
Black magic eludes me;
I’m not one of the chosen.

Though I can’t cast a spell in the way that you do,
with practicing magic, I don't think I"m through.
I find I enjoy the study and ritual--
in fact, I believe I may make it habitual.

The spirits I summon do clearly insist
that I work forever, as their alchemist.
This servitude, I accept with pride.
The end unknown, I’m enjoying the ride.

You're the Dark Lord; you are the master--
I may never achieve the goal that I’m after.
But on I toil, a servant of magic--
a lifelong apprenticeship--joyful, not tragic.

She was an acoustic version of herself,
Stripped down,
Strummed by life's callous fingers.

It's beauty is endless.
The notes it sings,
the music it plays.
Each guitar is unique,
Each has a different style.
As I play, I am happy.
Double slides, hammer-ons, pull-offs.
Playing the same riff over and over,
until your fingers hurt from the strings.
The feeling you get when you master a riff,
and play it with the song.
You feel unstoppable, You feel happy,
I feel me.