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.