Sleepless in Orlando

Tired, so tired. Pacing the halls, room by room, late night train whistles.
Haven’t slept in... I don’t know how long. But long.
I miss it.
Not sleep. Oh well yes, I guess that too. But not so much as you.
Sleeping with you. No, not ‘sleeping with you’
(although I do miss that, I’d be lying if I denied it and I never lie. Not about that, anyway.)
but sleeping, with my ‘come closer, you are such a good fit to me.’
Sleeping with my safe haven.
I could hold you touch you be near you all night and sleep. You, by me.
It’s so easy for some people. Not for me.
Oh, nothing is ever easy for me.
To be with others? all tangled limbs and then to sleep?
Not me.
Why does it have to be so hard? Why?
I’m not a baby, awkward, cold. So why?
Why do I miss your too-warm substance next to me?
Why do I wake up wishing it was you next to me?
Why do I want to wake up with our fluids smeared on my thighs?
Why do I want to kiss your eyes open, nuzzle you, crawl under you and hide?
Why does everyone else feel so wrong?