This Guitar

This instrument that lies here,
Full of life, passion,
Waiting to come alive
With just a strum.

The light hits its body reflectively
Gleaming on it’s smooth surface
In shades of golden brown,
A body so hollow.

This body it obtains curves,
Moves in a way music can’t live without.
Curves go in and out, but the music
Never seems to fade.

The curves lead to a tall neck.
Outstretched and reaching high,
Six strings compile themselves
Waiting to be plucked.

Its body fits perfectly against mine,
Cold to the touch, but warm
As the strings vibrate
Through its body and into mine.

It listens to me as I sing.