You've guessed it... another re-write!

PRIVATE AUDITION


In an empty upstairs-room above The Bar. Intimate.
We were so close my bare toes almost brushed against
his knee as I sat before him
on a hard chair with my legs crossed.
My neck hurt like hell.

The blues guitarist gave of his best.
I was transfixed by his amazing, agile fingers;
his beautiful, sensitive hands:
Physio hands.

On the electric Fender, however,
he was too rabid for my rough neck;
the horny pads of his fingertips thrummed just too tight,
too intense along the length of the guitar's chordal column.
And he hugged the slim, pale body just a bit too close -
like a bad dose of stomach-ache.
All this angst pummelled and compounded
the sense of mutilation in my upper vertebrae.

But on the acoustic, he was soothing:
He rocked and gently rolled her fuller figure love-like
with circular motions, caressing the strings
or plucking them harpish, to make them sing.
He softly passed his hand along her graceful neck
like stroking that of a gleaming white swan,
or the smooth-polished coat of his gorgeous Black Beauty.

Acoustic analgesia anaesthetised my pain...
"Killing it softly", as this singer might say.