We’re two chords in different keys
that somehow still resolve—
your major-seventh smile
leans into my minor fall.
Static on the surface,
but underneath it’s clear:
the signal finds my frequency
whenever you are near.
Not perfect sync, just honest drift,
two tempos beating time;
every skipped and stumbled note
still lands inside your rhyme.
We don’t need quantization—
our glitches feel like home;
press play, stay on, I’ll loop you close,
forever overblown.