By Alex Galper
that December,
rocking in a chair
and reading Rumi,
I ceased to reflect in a mirror.
you broke into tears, and asked,
"how can I trust you ever again?"
in January,
I began to levitate
under the chandelier
reading Hayam.
it made you nervous.
you learned to
throw the rope like a cowboy,
pulling me back into the bed.
and in February,
I went into spontaneous combustion,
but you, ready for contingencies,
slept with a fire extinguisher
and put the flames out,
destroying my plan
of a daring escape
to the 12th century Persia.
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