April 22, 2009

God of Guitar

Guitar strings plucked,
from my insides
a warm rush fills
my nicotined skin,
dim lights squinting,
smoke as spotlight warms,
there is music
before you even begin.

Trickling tones escape
the microphone,
a glint in the eye
and a half-smile tuning,
before the song escapes
from your fingers
trembling in the tenuous
touch of your guitar.

Thirsty for passion
in a hot, dry metropolis
I drink till I quench
each screaming note,
ranting and ravenous
an occasional missed chord
reminds me you too
breathe this city,

you also are caught
if it rains in the evening.

(c) Charlene Rajendran 1999

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