Instruments

Awakened from my dreams like a child
Every night I walk towards the fountain of youth
Throw a penny in, inhale the smoggy air,
Breathe out sighs and ponder
What the hell should I wish for?
I want him to play me like the plays his guitar
What a fine woman she must be
Able to dance along to his rhythm
To speak the music of his soul
I wish I was his song, his playwright of perfection
Travel along, thrown in the backseat of his truck
There we go, never grow up
If I was, so miraculously, this piece of instrument
I would have to say
I've been passed along to his possession
By the finest of fates
So many talented musicians had strummed my chords
But no one embraces my sound
Like those roughened fingertips of his
Notes erupt from his voice like a volcano
His soul blends with my Spanish beat
Like love is supposed to do.
Drowsy with sleep, I skip back to my bed
Back to dreaming.
Tomorrow I will be back at night
To stand starring at the fountain
Chucking little priceless coins of hope
Wishing to be his gracious Spanish guitar.