On my Bed Thinking About You

On my Bed Thinking About You

If I could touch

without hurting you

I would run all the way to the river

and back. 

But nothing has changed.

You are voiceless,

crouched

in some long-forgotten childhood

hiding place,

a dark jungle where every tree

looks like every other tree.

I long for your scent,

your knees pushing against

my thighs,

but what is asked for is often destroyed

by the very words that seek it.

My bed is a fossilized prison

where I learn to make love to you forever.