Strumming the Soul

I suppose your belly-button will have to suffice
as representing the circular opening of the guitar,
I suppose your skin is too light
to be even close to amber or beige,
but the comparison must be made
And so I paint a coat of paint over you conceptually
And admire my artifice from afar

The slightest touch of my fingers
And your entire body quivers
Can you be the penultimate expression
Of my innermost perfection?

I slide one hand over your long, long neck
And tickle your middle,
With the other
You vibrate in my lap, so lovely and apt
Tucked into my embrace, my ever-responsive lover