She sits there, beckoning for me to embrace her,

Her glossy wooden frame shining in the bedroom light.

I still haven’t learned how to pull at her strings,

To make her mine officially,

But every day I try.

I slowly caress her frame,

My left hand placed ever so gently behind her neck

As I slowly stroke her strings.

Sometimes she croons with approval,

Sometimes she grunts in dissatisfaction.

She sings sweeter to me every day it seems.

My virgin hands are more skilled now than before.

One day we will make beautiful music together

And the whole world will be there to see it.