A situationship in 39 lines

When we met under the churchyard bell,
our hands caught in an accidental brush; 
I admit, I was charmed by the lilting pitch
that gave away your high social standing,
your voice echoing about in a gentle ring,
giving new tones to the familiar music.

Before, I never much cared for music,
expressly not from that cursed bell
that ruled my days with its tolling ring.
But, now that I have felt the ardent brush
of your skin, my lady, I will stay here standing
and beg you to sing me your sweet, lilting pitch.

Grant me to harmonize my own ill-bred pitch
with your laugh, so we may create new music,
a ballad never before sung, of the highest standing,
not to be played by any glib troubadour bell,
dancing close enough for our skirts to brush.
Then, I am certain, all they will hear is the ring

of our tender vows as we exchange wedding ring—
but, surely, no one will dare deny the fevered pitch
with which us two maids lovingly brush,
too taken with dancing to the music
we have heard since that day under the bell,
when we began to create our own standing.

Recall a time when you said our love long-standing, 
your cheeks flush as you gifted me your sigil ring —
our favored meeting place, under the church bell!
No, I do not see why I need mind my pitch,
what could be heard over the tolling bell music
aside the doubt I now sense in your tepid brush — 

No, no, please, my lady, do not brush
away from me, we will face the church standing
together — our love will inspire ages of new music,
in every courtly hall it will eternally ring;
fight, if we must, until we stand proud upon the pitch —
anything, anything, that will allow me to keep you, my Lady Belle.

No, please, this music is no longer familiar, do not brush me aside —
I love you, Lady Belle, but if you so fear losing your social standing,
then take back your ring, and, with it, my coal-pitch heart.

♡