Way Back When

Sweep on down the synapse
to the synapse to the synapse
that – like slalom sledding
in a luge – careens you into
the delusion that the feeling
you are reeling from describes
some past experience so huge –

with such alluring virulence –
that it might even now appeal the way
it must have done when you –
oh, way back when – decided
you were having fun – oh, more than
shallow pleasure: fit that treasured
trembling creature like a glove –

were toxically in love. But maybe love
is always toxic – anyway, the tricky
icily slick spray of it that made you
fray into the tatters that your life
with him was then. Just saw some
pictures of him, once again.
Oh, way back when.



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