Somata for your pillow, love

I come for you
in the bright tear of dawn,
the silence of the dead afternoon,
the brooding hum of evening,
searching for the comfort
of your continued existence.

My mind launches, sticky-tipped
toward the nest I have built for you,
somata for your pillow, love,
in my fertile neural forest.
A tap, a touch, a question carried
on the upward curl of a lizard’s tongue.

This impossible thing that is you
within me watered and fed
on a blind desire of what
I need  you to want
in me.