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…

— EntangleDesigns

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