I come for the willow tree
of wires that hangs
from the ceiling
a weeping waterfall
of post-it notes.
If you crane your head
(everyone does)
you can read the messages inscribed on each one.
There is no way I can lose you when you refuse to be.
Be someone for whom a man would dare to escape.
You are up against your own fence of ribs.
Every time I come
I order a latte
extra hot
and while it cools
I look up
for the message
pinned to the willow tree
for me.