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To prove it to you, I appeal to mathematical calculations.
mathematical calculations, it turns out that in the last
poems write of your love,
is a constant that results
in trying to join two unequal ones,
my rickety heart and your soul
that doesn't get metaphors wrong,
you always use the visual ones;
I hide myself in my spectacular twilights
spectaculars full of dreams,
what do you think? of course
I want to phone you with the eagerness
of a fool who's still in love.
Maybe that's the only reason I mentioned you
so I don't despair when you ask me the questions
that my second grade teacher asked me.
How much is two times two
In three days of your absence and dying of you.
But that according to logic, my love,
is totally incomprehensible,
(as far as you are concerned, it's a miracle )
and that's our difference; your love remains
entrenched in a corner of my poor, rickety heart
rickety heart, and only I
can prove it to you, naturally in nostalgia.
Let's leave this in suspense.