Elaine picked up her book. "It's a poem of Catullus, a well-known poet of my world. This is a poem to his lover:
Let us live, my Lesbia, and let us love, and the rumors of strict old men let us all value at one penny! Suns may rise and set; For us, once our brief light sets, We must sleep one eternal night. Give me a thousand kisses, then a hundred, then a thousand others, then a second hundred, then continuously a thousand others, then a hundred. Then, once we've counted up many thousands, we will mix them up, lest we know their number, or that any evil person can envy us when he knows the number of our kisses."
She blushed a little. "It always makes me think of you. I have stopped counting our kisses."