For Andre

You didn't ask for a poem but you inspired this whole project. It gives me a pleasant sense of symmetry that I might end on you.

On keeping promises

I thought love meant standing on a subway platform waiting for the train that will never come
Except maybe, because love beats all odds, it would
I thought love meant defying the train schedule
I thought love meant being the rushing train
Called to the subway platform where it has never gone before,
Off course, off script, in love
I thought love meant keeping promises
But I am a poet and a liar.
My tag-line on tinder is "I'll break your laptop, your heart, or both"
People still swipe right.

Andre, I'll don't know what it means to contain the universe
So instead I count constellations when I can't sleep
Thinking about which stars look most like her eyes
Which, of course, is the kind of thing a liar would say: Stars are nothing like eyes
Except, perhaps, in terms of gravity.

I thought love was remembering how to dream
When I couldn't sleep.
Lying awake, eyes open, flying full-speed ahead into the depths of my own mind
Where her eyes are stars
But somewhere between the subway stop of poet park and liar plaza
I broke something
I thought this might also be love.
I don't dream anymore. I kind of like the quiet.

Andre, remember when you, me, and six other people piled into my tiny red car
And drove down to the lake together?
That night the moon was so bright on the water it seemed like we could dive into her
And splash around in her light
But every time we got closer she pulled away
Remember: The night was warm and the stars were bright and we didn't crash the car and I didn't break any hearts at all.

Andre, please teach me how to contain the universe.
This time, I promise, I won't mess it up.