My heart turns another ninety degrees,
At every hour, of every day, of every week.
Sometimes i feel as if there is nothing to heal it,
Sometimes i wish to forget it or shelve it or seal it.
I might hear a song, and that may bring it back,
But my love is a pretty vase, and everyday, it cracks.
My analytic mind is impatient for it to fall,
but my heart tries to piece it together, to survive another call.
My heart and mind are on a tilting scale, a turning graph,
I'd rather have us be cheesey, then for us to be just a laugh.
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