If only she could notice the effect
of her teasing art
Map it on one line against my beats,
as afield the normal course they dart.
For her every vexing stroke times
the time my pulse went off the charts,
If she could spend a while to sum
the summands of all those little parts
She wouldn’t doubt that intentions could stand
interminably, plain as planes of Descartes,
She wouldn’t dare question what really lies
beneath the curve of an aching heart.
But if only she would…