AGAIN, AGAIN

I’m full on grain,
it is the end,
some music so familiar, always,
and then it ends,
some feelings
are from movies,
and then they end,
quaking hands,
wet blue paint,
our ramble talk,
the idle car,
some salts, some smells,
will always bring
back forever point,
where we decide,
to be much better,
before the
end.