poets die of heartbreaks

hey, look at me, I said. Look, look, look.

There, there, there.

And we count every tap of my fingers, on your back,
and yours on mine.

And we say to each other : words

sometimes, words, translated, become numbers

because you tell me, "our minds are wired to see patterns that don't exist"

And we are tangled in between our sheets
and the galaxy,

And we tell the world we are in love.