maybe in the past life,
we met each other
as the sun and the moon
during the first eclipse.
maybe we met
as the wind and
that mailed letters that flew
out of a messenger's bag.
maybe we met
as the shore and the sand,
and we carved our promises
on tree barks
to meet and fall in love again
here,
in places made of sunsets
behind skyscrapers
and storms that fit
inside these words.
and now,
trees have gone scarce
but i'm carving a new promise
on your lips with my ink:
let's meet again in the next life
and i hope centuries from now,
i'll meet you in the peak
of the ferris wheels;
you were still scared of heights
when we lived our third lives.
i hope i'll meet you
when i look away
after making up constellations
from the first stars that
come in with the dusk.
i hope i'll meet you
in coffee stained shirts
worn in underrated poetry classes.
and in case
we get to read this poem,
i hope can we recognize that
it's written by me.
i hope we can recognize that
it's written for you.