His Guitar : Day 56 #100daysofwriting

He plays his guitar
Like a natural
Like breathing
With a lazy rhythm
Fingers in slow motion
Weaving colours
Bursting into imagination
He plays in a way
That makes me want to paint
Big swirls of colour
With both hands
Makes me want to dance
Naked under pine trees
Makes me want to sing
Secret songs of summertime
He bites his lip
In concentration
Maybe to hold back
The explosions of genius
Intense concentration
Across his brow
Belies the lazy rhythm
Paint, pine, song
Swirl before my eyes
The tempo picks up
Carrying me away
The lazy strumming
Beats like birds wings
Against my heart
Breath catches
Music swirls