I do not want to go

I do not want to go,
though it is very late.
(The sky is threatening snow.)
I do not mind the wait

for taxi cab or train,
I do not mind the ride,
but still I linger, I remain --
you press against my side,

to hurry or to stay
I do not know. But this
brief warmth I know I want,
this tender furtive kiss

(a tiny fire that yields a moment's heat),
your touch through glove and sleeve:
Oh! Let us wander still these empty streets!
I do not want to leave.