Every time you tell me
That you love me
It means a little more
Than it did
The last time
You said it.

And I know you mean it,
So it's easy for me to say
That we're meant to be,
Like the way humans
Like the smell of gasoline
Because that's the way space smells,
Because that's the scent dying stars give off,
And it  reminds us of our past lives.
(We're all stardust, anyway.)