I imagine I'm the guitar

In the photograph of you I keep--

Unchanging-- while you're in Logan;

Though I can't recall the song 

You played,

I know the way your body fits 

With the curves of the wood

And I know the way the light--

From your facetime calls, and the moon--

Reflects off the corners. 

Your arms held my wooden body,

And your calloused fingers traced my neck

In hopes of creating a melody to hum

While we wait at different airports

Again.