as i plucked the strings of a worn guitar,

as i plucked the strings of a worn guitar,

my love came singing; her voice adorned with

moist assonance in her lingering tongue
and her toes tapping the Earth to my awkward rhythms

then her voice grew larger and filled the hills
with their reaping echoes
the trees shook and left themselves bare
and thirsty for more straining in sight

i kept plucking, fighting my urges to leap up
and kiss her dripping lips, laced with smooth alliterations
from her thoughtful lyrics—her dire words

leaving this world with such wrenching sweetness

and i just kept plucking
letting her words leap far beyond mine