When we loved, when every minute
I waited for you was meaningful
outside the café. The night was beautiful
and our walk back toyed with anxiety
underneath our meaningless talk.
How did the Visigoths conquer Rome?
Maybe you can tell me.
When we loved. The red lights spinning,
the music showering us with memory
barely older than our lucky reverie—
which you seemed doubtful of,
even though we knew what we felt was love.
How did the Asian markets crash?
Maybe you can tell me.
The moments when every moment mattered
and we panted in the middle of our love,
what were you thinking, really?
What did you think of the kisses and the poetry?
Is the sighing really over at last?
How did Napoleon III succumb to Germany?
I know you told me. But can you tell me, again?
Must everything live in the past?