Charles Noreaster's poem is about a man who sees himself only as a set of measurements: IQ, vocabulary count, body size, even his anxiety. The speaker, who clearly loves him, argues that none of these figures capture who he really is. The numbers miss his eloquent thoughts, his warm way of talking, and his "skinny beauty."
The second half turns from statistics to small, tender memories. The speaker sees him in the creases around his eyes from smiling, in the geraniums he picked after forgetting flowers (much to her mum's annoyance), and in his soft, messy black hair. These details feel warm and a little funny, which makes the contrast with the cold numbers stronger.
The ending is sadder. The speaker admits she hoped he would forget the numbers, but they swallowed him into "facts" and "the abyss." The mood moves from affectionate defiance to quiet grief, as if love and memory weren't quite enough to pull him back.