There is room in my heart for you,
tucked in my left ventricle perhaps,
by the clenching, releasing valve through
which my warm blood rushes out of my control.
There is room in my wrist for you
where my pulse beats by twin tendons
and the delicate tracework of blue
veins under my skin that thrills to the gentlest touch.
There is room in my eyes for you
in the vitreous humor by my honeycomb vision cells
thrumming as light flows through
my dilated pupils never quite seeing enough.
There is room in my ears for you,
between the hammer, anvil, and stirrup descended from
our ancestor reptile jaws to
amplify the sound of whispers that make my heat rise.
CHORUS:
But there’s no room in my life for you.
Try as I might, I can’t make it right
to make room in my life for you.
You know that I would, if only I could
make room in my life for you,
if fantasy could be reality.
Still, I think about things I can’t do.
I’ve made room in my mind for you.
There’s room in my knee for you
where the bend in the back is silken and warm
and a gentle caress melts through
me, fanning the flames of rising desire.
There’s room in my hip for you
where the skin lies taut in the concave hallow
and the pressure of your palm would lead to
a rush of sweet sensation flooding my brain.
There is room in my cheekbones for you
where they seem to shape my mother’s face in the mirror
and her fragile skin mine’s becoming, too,
over the hardness of my skull I want captured in your hands.
There is room in my fingertips for you,
as I lift up the locks of hair from my shoulders
and feel the baby down hidden from view
while the silver strands on my crown glint like steel.
CHORUS: Repeat
There’s room in my dreams for you
when night closes in and I’m left alone
to imagine my life anew,
shaping all the players as I will.
Then there’s room in my fingertips for you,
as I slide my hands from your shoulders through your hair
and feel the baby softness hidden from view
while the silver strands on our crowns glint
like steel.