Limerence

A stream of music flows through my mind Petals picked, torn, ripped, from a disc I can’t remember the last time it’s been tuned Do I remember how to hum with intent so quick? Or can I continue with this stream of fabrication, Sewing its way into stuck keys All the notes felt of a familiar off white marrow Though the harmony cannot squeeze, Through something so narrow I’m sorry for the confusion, of a backwards quaver With gentle consideration I’ll allow our love to waiver