Affection Returned

The return of the affection
Is never an affliction,
Nor does it seek defection
Or feel like crucifixion.

Like a criminal,
returning to the scene of the crime
It's quite subliminal,
Like the patterns in the grim.

The patterns, not the dirt,
It gets me down to thinking
That there's no pain, no hurt,
And no need to go out drinking.

And in the end, time's a cycle,
Always finding ways to loop.
It may be crazy, or psycho,
But with you, I alway like to coop.