guitars are girls, he used to say
my bassist boyfriend with lies for words
collecting lovers as instruments; they all had names:
sakura, his five string ibanez
tinkerbell, the shiny black gibson thunderbird
penelope, a USA hamer cruise jazz bass
jocelyn and bridgette, his acoustic girls
and finally maud the marauder
a temperamental bitch, he said

sliding down her strings
like strung out nerve endings
watching as he'd sweep a palm
over her modest rosewood curves
sliding well-practiced fingers
across her long neck lines
her body gleaming in the barlight

how i longed for him to play me
like he played his girl guitars