i'd cross out the stars
and write my own constellations
for you on blackboard tops if it meant
we could meet on mars, where
you would recite me old poems
everyone else forgot about and i
would paint something beautiful, that
even picasso would envy. 'cause
we both know where this is going to lead
to, (and maybe i don't want to fall in love,
but i want to fall into something) so
i'd rather it be your arms, darling, than gravity.