her looks, they latch on without resistance,
a foothold on the mental castle moat.
the shapes and patterns empower my gaze,
smouldering my naked beat,
i glance for fulfillment,
i glare for brevity.
hindered by rose tinted glasses,
her presence enslaves all and sundry.
urges lurk beneath,
overtones of lust tuned to a minor key,
from dominant to subdominant,
skipping the diatonic,
skipping melancholy,
save the beat.
bewilderment entrancing the soul,
a balancing act of verse and chorus.
isolation prolonging the inevitable,
losing the sense of progression.
a resolution of sorts,
a modulation,
a motif.
what is a signature without a key,
what is a minor glitch without a major bitch.
what is a cadence if not authentic.
such is the music of love.
Picture(s) courtesy of Pixabay.com
© honeybee
