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I dated a guitarist
Who played chords on my ribs
His fingers would trace over every bone
Until my chest was a song
Each rib was a different note
That he blended with the last
And my ribcage was merely
An instrument for him to use over and over again.

I dated a drummer
Who tapped rhythms on my hip
His fingertips would beat melodies into my side
And hammer measures and notes
Until the sun rose
He'd leave and my hips would have small bruises
From where his fingers
Pounded songs into me.

I dated a pianist
Who played the keys on my spine
His nails would brush the ivories
Embedded in my vertebrae
And the pads of his fingers
Would press tunes into my spinal chord
From the highest notes in my neck
To the deepest in my lower back
And he'd stare at his keyboard
And wish there was more.

I dated a singer
Whose mouth would sing to me with every kiss
His lips would pronounce his lyrics against my flesh
And his music escaped into my mouth
His voice crooned to me
Through every part of my body his lips met
I was his microphone, his audience
I was just a way for him
To amplify his art.