We were the parallels
drawn from the moon and back
and I would tell you that I loved you so
but you’ll say we’re perpendicular
tangents, I wouldn’t know if they
meet because you’re the one studying math,
I took history, too bad neither of us
preferred chemistry.

Sometimes I think that we are the writers of our destiny.

But if I saw you again, I’d
tell you that the Bubonic Plague and the
fourteenth century crisis and the terribly
invisible and insignificant union of Italy
is mixed with all of those love poems in my head
that I wrote for you last night.
You’d tell me to shut up and kiss me
after calculating how much time it would
take me to reciprocate the first time.

Baby, that night we were bathed in moonshine.

I’m listening to your song again and again and again
till I can feel you inside my bones, we aren’t logic
much, and I’d tell you that I hate economics
but we shouldn’t be a poem that’s forced to rhyme.
I’d tell you that I loved your green-blue tie,
tell you that it is the colour of eyes that I could drown in
but your brown wouldn’t be too bad, in fact,
if I could, I’d change the colour of the seas to the colour of chocolate.

Maybe that’s why I love drowning.

You’ll never read this, and I am not going to be the same
ever so, without you. I’m not sorry for what I said, I’m sorry
for how I said it, and I know that we are two constellations
with five galaxies in between, those white coats have discovered
only one and I’d whisper to you where the other four exist
in your ear, I’d tell you, “Baby, let’s go find ‘em all.”

We’d travel each other’s skin, and damn if that wouldn’t be a second Big Bang right against my lips.