Author: Alex Galper

That December,
Rocking in a chair
And reading Rumi,
I ceased to reflect in a mirror.
You broke into tears:
“How can I trust you ever again?”

In January,
I began to levitate
By 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 daring escape
To the 12th century Persia.