We don't remember what it was like
that first time
what we talked about
whether we showed each other things
which we didn't yet have
the stale wines
in the polished vases
warm bodies in winter
whether we read
from closed books
added ourselves together and
knew we never
would have to divide
together exponential
a multiplication with
in the cross that we
no longer wanted to carry
a conclusive casting out of nines.
[I translated "Liefde is ook Wiskunde" by Bart Plouvier from Dutch to English for the national poetry day in Belgium.]
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