Real subject poem

There's the story of me sitting in the grass in the dark
five thousand four-hundred ninety-five miles east
wondering what we would want in this moment
if we were thousands of miles closer
a peche lambic, s'il vous plait- in broken French
our thick accents cause curiosity,
lighthearted laughter, genuine kisses
a Belgian boy and an American girl
five thousand four-hundred ninety-five miles
our orbits collided like that of meteors.