Alone with Room for Two

I lay awake through the night,
haunted by ghosts of lovers past.
My room is dark, cool and inviting.
Just not nearly inviting enough
to summon an overnight companion.

A woman to share the low light
and whisper secrets with between
the brushing of lips together.

To slowly explore already well known
contours and crevices with.
To hold with a hope of sleep and a
chance to synchronize our breathing.

To feel wonderful round breasts
against my side as I hold her.
Tits so perfect they are an anomaly,
simply refusing time and gravity.

She stirs in her sleep, caught in
unpleasant dreams or memories
but settles when she feels me
draw her tighter to me.

But they all leave eventually.
Some on good terms, several not.
They think I might be a bit crazy.
Is crazy the same as Lovesick?
I think they might be a bit right.