The mathematician never finished his work today

Which is weird because it was the most important project of his career.
Working on the equation for the perfect person, left it halfway done.
The other half lost in this numerical mind.

But that's what we are, two halves of an unfinished project.

A slip atom
A half of a binomial theorem
A parabola at the apex of its' focus, ready to fall right back on its' feet.

Because apart we are imperfect, we trip, we fall
But when multiplied we are a product of perfection, able to point out that mistaken branch before you have time to brace yourself.

I'll take those expanded arms and wrap them around me, feel your acute angles against my obtuse curves.
Put my hand on your neck, not to feel your skin, well: to do that too, but also to feel your pulse.
Knowing it beats at the same intervals as mine.

And no one know why the mathematician never completed the equation.

…maybe fell asleep…
                                       …maybe distracted…
                                                                              …maybe he just forgot…

But I thank him.

Because perfect is lonely and you...you are everything.
Without him the  Y= to my MX+being would never be linear.

And I'm not good at math, neither are you, but I'm pretty sure we don't need to look in the back of the book for any answers.