Warm Hands

The nights changing so fast.
Warm, like your hands
on the back of my neck
asking me not to go
I do.
Slowly at first.
Then faster.
Like Spring turning into Summer.
Trees, leaves,
and dreams made of ice cream.
Kids flying kites and
dogs playing in the the park
Still I sit.
Warm, in a cold apartment.
Clutching to the memory of
your hands on my neck.