A poet's way of expressing a cliché:
You could have been the Asiago to my rotini
A pre-dated reference, but innocent enough to claim
You were supposed to live up to the hype—
Maybe you didn't know, maybe you weren't informed
That you must be someone's dream come true
Even if you don't get to choose
The good professor hiding behind the curtain
It's an unsolvable equation, that which we don't agree upon
Mates in the same state as country, county, city
Call it a learning experience, all of these swirling things
There was nothing, nothing that could keep you out of my head
It took a turn back in time to force you to solve for x
y oh y was it so hard to see that variables were getting in the way?
A saboteur in our midst, ready to throw the numbers into the water
Mixing, swirling what it was that made us an us in the simplest of fractions
That's why I went back to cooking—it was a better metaphor for us both.
We could let it all simmer, until the intrusion of bitter spices
Calmed the f--- down and left us to our own devices.
