差しあげる: Wishful Thinking

These are the endless summer days in all the wrong ways,
When here is now and you are there,
Such opportune timeliness is nowhere

To be found,
To be seen,
To be held and caressed.

These are the things I miss
So dearly -- so dear
Like my head upon your chest.

Whilst the sun refuses to grant me exposure,
Sheepishly hiding within the clouds, sleeping gently
While you wait for me in your bed

I am laying there beside you,
Writing books upon books in the contents of your head
And you

Are the spark of every inhalation and the regress of each exhalation.
And this rush of wonderment would be enough,
If it weren't for the lasting warmth of your last touch.

For the spaces between my hands seem a little distant
Without your cheeks to guide me there,
And without your hair to keep my fingers warm
I am left in the cold

Unknowing and unaware.

Like those secondary moments before I met you,
I look forward to what I don't know I'm missing.
Because distance doesn't matter and time does not exist
When what I'm feeling between us, is openhearted listening.