A poem about a kind of love by David Tombale: Threading the needle

Threading the needle is a bit complex. I had to describe it as kind of love poem because in some ways the relationship it narrates is slightly like love but taken altogether what it emerges is something far less romantic.
Threading the needle

I thread the needle through my eye as
I look for her inside the seething dark,
The crying skies look beautiful in the
Background of our lives when I’m holding her,
Teasing nipples through her brassiere,
Tasting salt and sweat and odd regrets.
She won’t let me kiss her lips, her lust
Almost haunting, slightly sad,
Her legs, her hips, I spread them wide and
Lose my mind, yet that absence,
That invisible that makes me sick,
Chest inhales and exhales, sweet breath
Still tickles these tiny hairs, now quickly over,
Now she’s looking at me hand laid out,
The paper falls, my money gone
And once more I sleep alone.