Whether you’re fighting exes for Scott Pilgrim,
Or playing “Tom Sawyer” for Geddy Lee,
You never growl
Anything under beautiful.

The raunchy tones
Of your Jetglo black
Hide in the undertones
Of the night.

I’ll attempt to cover you
By ensembles or pedals,
But your presence cannot
Be mistaken.

I love you so,
The sounds of my life,
But your price tag may only
Bring me strife.

The sleekest gloss
On your beloved neck
Tends to remind me of sweat;
I envy your effort to be great.

You can walk through jazz
Or stomp through rock,
Yet my ears may
Always decipher you.

Fireglo,
The bright yet burnt reds
May your metallic strings
Make me deaf.