Lay with me in the grit of jet black sand
bracing for the near storm holding my hips;
prior to wind's bellows stroking every hair strand
kissing my sleek neck before chaffed lips.
Against the thunder and lightning array,
shield me, blanketing my wide-open hinges;
and as the scene has come to a delay,
hoist me above the superficial singes.
Strum on my center, lower, and louder,
until we arouse the lightening,
and as it eventuates in power,
may we make sound music fittingly.
-Jg