Woman and Guitar

My new guitar smells like an
Exquisite woman.
Perhaps she is one,
A woman,
Only a bit less lovely and
Soft where it matters.
But the fragrance,
The glue, the wood, the lacquer,
Intoxicating.
I will do almost anything for her,
To preserve the aroma as long as possible,
Keeping the rosewood beauty tucked safely
Inside its luxurious cushioned hard shell case
So it, too, absorbs and
Memorializes the factory tang.
Still, despite my drunken attachment to her,
She is certainly not a woman,
Though I will ply my lover with it and so achieve
Glory.

© Poem Fix http://www.poemfix.com 2012

Photo by Poemfix