My mistress is a slack-stringed guitar.
Hidden in the case, her smooth body
is kept away from moonbeams.
Occasionally I'll take her out,
holding her in my arms, gently
touching the back of her cold neck.
Winding with the left hand, touching the strings with the right,
I tune her in various ways.
Then she tenses herself into a real
six-string instrument, spreading intensely
her easily-ignited beauty.
But when I start playing, the strings