Nostalgia is memory decayed to sugar...
—Donna Stonecipher
“It’s just psychological,” you say,
this buzzing in my ear when I think
of you. “What are we going to do,” I
ask, “just keep undressing each other
with our eyes?” But I can’t take it,
this story that’s always foaming at
the mouth. “Who said that?”
There he comes grinning,
eye contact, an erotic clash of
cymbols. What a city, Psycho-
logy! Its bees, its gnats, its big
hairy mosquitoes. “Maybe I just
got too close to the smoke machine,”
I say as I crawl through an unknown
hallway leaving a cold trail of slime.
