Secret life

It's the silence between us
that scares the shit out of me:
that fills the room
when your eyes close to the world
and mine grow wide,
and my breaths drip to my hipbones
as I strain not to move you.
This is the way I lay
and think too much
when you slip into dreams
and I, into the endless in-between, of
Wanting:
the beautiful things... I wish we were doing
the beautiful love... I want to be making
the beautiful words... I want to be exchanging.
I feel a hypnic jerk
of restrained, restless energy that keeps my legs twitching
as yours hold to me
begging me not to run, tonight.
"Not tonight, baby."
I fake contentment, because it feels good
to be this close to someone like you,
though in moments like now,
I feel like you don't know Me at all-
for this is when I like to dig
and be dug into.
In my mouth, I can only taste
the waste- of such a spark.
Can't we just run
and forget what must be done?
This is when I get real.  
Instead, I feel really alone.
It's the secret life I live
while existing two inches from your face
that makes this hard,
because you're here, but so far away,
and it's simply not my place
to call you home.