She Sleeps Above Me

She sleeps above me.
And I wonder where we are, where she is.
Does she see me? Can I feel her in my heart where I thought she would stay?
Am i swathed in the cloth of her heart? Am I in her flesh like she is in mine?
Is she slipping away like steam from the steam grates on the street below?
I long for the familiar touch her of her hand, warm against my skin in the night.
Her eyes seem distant..away somewhere where I cannot go.
Somewhere she will not allow me to go.
We speak sometimes of futures. Is hers mine? Mine hers?
Does she feel the distance between us? Am I creating it?
Her touch heals me.
Mirrors of time cascade around us as tomorrow's history plays out today.
Is she in there? Am I in there?
When does awe turn to we? Is there one thing, one magical mystery thing that can be done to assuage the thirst for oneness?
That I could touch as in days past. That I could touch her heart and move in her that indescribable thing that is now overshadowed by the reality of my existence.
I see the disappointment in her eyes. She hides it well underneath her veil of compassion.
I know not how to take back the parts of myself that she finds objectionable .
I know not how to instill in her that initial sense of wonder.
I want to tell her that she is all I have ever dreamed of.
How can I, when to do so would only increase the pain of her disappointment.
She will shine on. She will do the wonderful things that she has set out to do.
I fear it will be without me by her side. I fear that her disappointment will gently ease her into a life more suited to her free and independent nature. I think she knows it but cannot express it. To do so she fears would shatter me. To so she fears would leave me completely alone.
And so it might, on both counts.