Mahogany-Brown
Mahogany-Brown
Mahogany-brown, heaven-sent,
My love
A sublime work of art
Perfect, so perfect.
Cloaked in black, like the night
My love, mahogany-brown
Every curve fitting in mine
The piece which completes my puzzle.
We don’t need violins and pianos,
My love, mahogany-brown
Symphonies play in our embraces,
And in the brushes of our fingertips.
Hollow inside but full, so full,
My love’s mahogany-brown
Richness flows into my soul,
Cathartic, lifting me from the world.
And even when my fingers are callused,
My love’s mahogany-brown
Smoothness will never roughen
Because immense purity is untouchable.
The neck’s slight tilt, the ivory marks,
My love’s mahogany-brown
Fretboard oft caressed,
The six strings which lovingly
Callused these fingers
And brought out the melodies hiding
Inside
Both muse and music,
My love, mahogany-brown.