The Pitfalls of Dating Musicians

by Molly Finkelstein

I. The Cello

I fell in love with a cello.
the sound of the cello,
the appearance of the cello,
and especially the boy who played the cello.

cello-boy was a black-clad orchestra badass.
he was the lovely dangerous
anomaly of the string world.

he put down the cello for half a minute
and we kissed.
he tasted like burning wood.

he could get a musical orgasm
from running his bow
across the strings,
but it couldn’t make him
high.

II. The Saxophone

before the cello, there was the saxophone.

he told me that when he slid out
notes, he was thinking about me.
when he swung those tenor solos,
I was the "inspiration."

my pseudo-musical heart melted
into viscous globs on the band room
floor. I thought I could hear love
in those seductive moans
and it was love.
it was love of sax.

he wanted me to be the female interpretation
of his gleaming golden saxophone.
he wanted to touch me like he fingered
those black keys.
he wanted to put reeds in my mouth
and sax me up.

III. The Self

I’m used to coming second to the instrument,
I don’t mind it really, I can even enjoy it -
imagining that while his fingers slide down
the cold metal strings on his dark cello neck
inciting melodic bliss,
I am more part of it
than all other listeners

but every once in a while,
I’d rather be a person
than the sexual reincarnation
of an instrument.