he places his guitar
in it’s case
the rightful place
beside him
when his set is done

then walks through his applause
and the fourth wall oblivion
of stage lights

toward my table
and the way my skirt
thinks it a shame
to cover my thigh highs

his chair pulled
too intimately close to mine
for the comfort of groupies present

leaning into me saying,

“You vex me, woman…”

his 21-gun
how do you do

i stroke a single finger
along the rim of his fedora
purring,

“I’m trying my damnedest…”