From afar, Asfalyi, your gaze met mine, and the cosmos gasped.
I was first to look away blushing.
I, Asfalyi, watched my professor’s supple mouth move in speech.
You, Asfalyi, asked me, Yarom, to lend you my notes from class.
I had taken none.
With a cry, you pummeling fell upon me.
From afar, Asfalyi, you watched me smiling and laughing, listening and speaking: I, you could see, was ardent, and unconstrained, and attentive.
Later, you glimpsed me sneering, and changed your mind: I was surly, callous, and ill at ease, you decided.
You, Asfalyi, and I, Yarom, at our clumpers silently worked.
You, Asfalyi, were drawn to me from across the room.
Our hearts quopping, haltingly we from nothing made conversation.
“What kind of music do you prefer?” —“I guess noisepop. You?” —“I like jazzpop mostly.”
Our hearts each saddened a little.
For hours, Asfalyi, you sought through pages of text the flaw in your spell.
You found it at last: you’d written what should have been a comparison as an allocation—a virgule only was missing.
Groaning, you smacked yourself in the face.
From afar, a glimpse of my face convinced you, Asfalyi, that I alone could rectify your existence.
