There are misgivings here, lying fallow between these sheets
Where the curve of my body tucks gently into the fold of yours.
I have mistaken this for love.
But it isn’t.
Putting my hand over your heart doesn’t make it mine; I’m a fool for thinking so.
But in the sleepless still, I try anyway.
I conjure all the blood to the tips of my despondent fingers
And circle the places where I want to live inside you,
Press my hopeless palm against your chest
And hold my breath.
How can you sleep through the rattling of my desires, scrambling to make sense?
When you open your eyes, kiss my cheek,
I think for a fleeting moment that maybe, just maybe, it worked
That the circuits have been fused; the metal, soldered; the distance, traveled.
But then you leave, and this void stretches onward, dark and obtrusive;
And I drown in your wake.