Love is not a major chord progression,
Or a minor melody, blue to ear.
More a tango of arpeggiating heartbeats
On a tensile chord, just missing by an offbeat.
Love is a musical without a conductor,
It’s a torrid affair with elements
We don’t understand. Immense
In scale, limited by obstructers.
Your key changes too often for me to
Keep up. No theory applies
When it comes to our misunderstandings.
Instead our crescendo is heard down the street.
But despite the raging passion,
The heated counterpoint, things
Will always come to a crashing
Conclusion, till you rest your head on mine.