Sometimes I wish you were more poetic. Not in the way of speaking or writing or being, but rather in your actions, small actions that could mean everything but are still very small in thought. Perhaps if when we lay, you would gently stroke my neck with one finger or stroke your veins while you are thinking. Maybe you could shut your eyes and take a slow breath in before saying something important, thereby allowing your worlds to flow out gently through one single thread of air. Or possibly while walking up stairs you could gently skim the rail with your fingertips or have an extra heavy (albeit silent) leg as if the journey were a burden, not a physical one but more emotional...
Maybe this is just Narcissus wanting to be lovers with himself.