I roam cities that speak

like you. Their lips

twist at the rain, and their

eyes squint at the

sun, and I watch

 

closely, from a few feet

away. You are breathing

heavy, fog-clouding the

air, sighing—my question

 

dangles off the tip of my

tongue “have you gotten

tired of me?” Whisper

 

back dangled confessions. My

feet feel the ground shift

its weight:

 

You are sunshine going

your own

way,

 

I am looking for every

reason to

stay.