"Musician"

Another poem. It feels unfinished, but I like it for the moment as it is

Musician
A friend once mentioned to me that some instruments can be sexy.
I was skeptical
“Come on, imagine –
That saxophonist: savage, encircled by a senseless storm of music - sharp, simmering, suffocating - sliding his fingers as the sax sings - sliding, stopping, sliding – a salve, a sanctuary in which to lose the self, somewhere, the sound shooting down your spine, and it feels like he’s playing you as you sit there stiff, spellbound, shattered, surrendered, and safe.”
“Sounds surreal”
I was skeptical
Not anymore
I saw the first person I’d describe as Powerful,
Not only did the room reverberate with the sound of her bass guitar
But she radiated energy
Everything about her defied the world
She challenged the world and the world backed down
She didn’t play the guitar
She struck it and slid her hand up the neck
And the sound shook you from your chest out through your arms to your fingers
She sang music, not words; sounds, not ideas, and it slammed into you