What do you forget?

The slip ups. The mess
ups. The fucks ups. The
shake ups. The let downs.
The shake downs. The
melt downs. The break
downs. I forget the insanity
I mistook for passion,
and the passion
I mistook for detachment.
What I forget
is the way you
had tore at me,
which made me
tear at you. Is
this love? I
want to
forget
that
that madness
was anything more
than an aberration
of love,
love’s dysfunction,
you and me
fucking love up.