Broken Records

I feel your arms
when I listen to my favorite songs, 
I hear your voice 
when I look at the moon and
I see your eyes whenever 
I close mine.
Why can’t you be the one
to kiss me goodnight
rather than my
crinkling sheets?
And why isn’t your voice
singing me to sleep
rather than these
broken records?
How is it that
you’re so full when
I’m as hollow as bone? 
Can you teach me your ways,
because I’m gasping for air
as you swim in an
ocean of luxury 
and I’m sick of
drowning.