Because you run your fingers regularly
all over my bare bones,
you are familiar with my exoskeleton,
a pattern comprised of sharps, flats, naturals.

Pulled tightly within me
are tendons that hold me together
and give me purpose.
You observe the dusty gold color
while examining my exposed interior.
The cool smell of varnish floats from the wood
to fill your acquainted nose.

My anatomy is revealed,
but you are a stranger to me.
I only feel the pressing tips of your hands
and more often than not,
the pulse of your foot.