She's Distant

She's distant.   Her side denied, I reach, I try.  
I send my music.  I send my poems.   I touch her
hair but grasp air at home, alone.  My fingers stretch,
grope with empty hope. Why do I try?  I can't have
what I yearn for, can't stop the pain when I learn more
and get the message again and again.  What is wrong in my
head?  A major blow, I know it's so as I pine  
intent with no danger of threat, a warm, wavy crest
floods my body, my sex, my chest.  I sigh, I cry for I
can't stop my lust, can't end it, can't say goodbye.  
But she's distant, a lost cause though I love her so.
I feel her warmth and know I can't let myself let go
though she will never know who I am, how I feel.  How could
she know when it will never be real?  I imagine it all.  
Maybe there's a chance she could find humor in, be smitten with,
something I am, a loving, caring, giving man...no.  There's
despair for she's right there but, alas, it cannot, could not
ever come to pass.  She's right there.  She's distant.