Helium Hands

In the dark I feel
the cold springs if the mattress
hesitantly give way to your breaths.
I hear you sigh in your dreams
and fervently wish that sacred air
that fills you lungs
would fill your hands like helium
balloons, and they would raise high
and touch my face.
My skin nearly blisters
from the fire of your skin,
almost peels away at the warmth
of your hands.
You turn closer and I hope
your arms will wrap around me,
so I may know the passion in your flesh.
Your lips twitch invisible words
that desire to
tell of your heart,
and I want to shake you
and wake you
and tell you of mine.
But your hands don't move,
your arms remain a fantasy,
and I dare not rouse you.
I let you keep to your dreams,
so you remain in my bed,
so I can keep to mine.