Separation

Sometimes, in the night, sharing our
  bed
I feel cage-restrained.
I cannot stretch, or scratch, or swear
at moths or mosquitoes looking for
the light, or me. I cannot listen to
  the
World Service, speak out loud or
  hum.

And yet and yet, separated,
my being yearns for you.
Not for rapturous couplings,
not for passion, but for oneness.
It is my primordial need
to share the beat of breath,
the silent, unconscious rhythm of
  life
that is not yet death.