When you
say,
Please don’t
go,
the day
weaves
a nest
from
the strands
of
tenderness
in your
words, and
I,
squirrel-like, curl
deep
into their
mossy
warmth. I
cache
the sweetness
of
quietly snuggling.
Come
winter, these
seeds
of autumn
gentleness
will nourish
me.