Predestination

In the year 1453

The heavy gates of my resolve finally gave way

Like the stones of Byzantium falling

Into the lap of a patient conqueror

I am tracing the meridian of your jaw

A cartographer lost in the architecture of skin

While the ivy climbs the brickwork of the college

Ignoring the expiration of kings

(40° North) You are my Cassiopeia in the low winter sky

(60° East) We are a dynasty of two, built on silt

The records may burn in the Great Library

But the math of us remains absolute

I watched you navigate the high stacks

Past the vellum and the forgotten dialect of trees

Our geometry is a recurring decimal

An infinite calculation of belonging

We are the ruins of Carthage after the rain

Fragrant with the scent of wet limestone

Waiting for a future that hasn’t been written

By the hands of the local council

(40° North) You are my Cassiopeia in the low winter sky

(60° East) We are a dynasty of two, built on silt

The records may burn in the Great Library

But the math of us remains absolute

Divide the distance by the weight of silence

Carry the remainder to the next century (One for the sorrow, zero for the end)

Hadrian’s Wall is a pile of pebbles

Compared to the border I crossed for you

(40° North) You are my Cassiopeia in the low winter sky

(60° East) We are a dynasty of two, built on silt

The records may burn in the Great Library

But the math of us remains absolute

The empire shrinks to a single room (Absolute, absolute)