the soft, pink flesh
of the palms of my hands
reach for you through the thickness of the dark

in this city that never sleeps
in this night

in this bed
we lay our heads upon
in white-sheeted Astoria fashion
like a blanket of snow covering our most delicate parts

i hear the sound of your body aching
your deep, slow breaths

lulling

promising me
dreams of solitude

but still i cannot touch you.