a bed covered with snow

Tossing from side to stomach to side to back. Legs swimming in place under sheets of cotton. A head filled with an unfulfilled desire.
I promised myself I would remain unaffected, unattached. I'm a liar.
This bed is too cold for me alone and we're simply friends. She's sleeping (or at least attempting to) in a bed that could easily be a million miles away and her absence speaks volumes about my apparent co-dependency.
Sharing one's bed with another does not have to be an overtly sexual thing. Pulling into the warmth of another body (tingling with hot blood) fills my entire being with a steady flame that rarely shakes or trembles. To have her arm wrapped around my chest is to be cradled in the warm belly of the milky cosmos - what else can there be?
She is pulling back. She wants to re-establish our friendship which means negating any kind of intimate contact. I wish she could be just a little bit selfish. She's so overly-concerned with others that she neglects her needs, desires.
She has left her scent in this bed, on these blankets of cotton and on this pillow; like the reluctant ghost her presence remains even if she is not here in flesh and in blood.
My head is filled with a flickering chandelier that's on the verge of losing it's grip on a cracked and crumbling ceiling (I thought you said you would remain unaffected, unattached - what happened?). The crash is imminent - but when? When?
She is a store front mannequin left alone in a dim window long after closing time. Her eyes gaze out of the window to an empty street at 2 in the morning. She's unable to hear my wishes, my desires, my hopes, my voice.
And I am left envious.

mc