Just outside, the
rain

plays.  An iron gate is rusting shut
across from

traffic lights
maintaining perfect
indifference
to
a newspaper
on a bench losing its
ink to the gutter.

I get the feeling
you've done this
before.  Now

I see,

I         was             just
                       one
                 part
            of
      the
cycle you like to repeat.

And so it was,
the brief respite attained
through our
lips and arms

and

bodies,

a sunset
mistaken
for a sunrise.

I was just happy to see those
colors stain my sky again,

I refused to
see
the
sun
sinking.

I get the feeling
I've done this before.
Now I see, you   were   just
                                  one
                           part
                     of
               the
        cycle  I  like  to  repeat.