Analysis of Nine Sixteen

Tell me, what is the word to replace
taking you in my arms;
the syllables strung together that hold the weight
of stealing in next to you,
entangling souls and limbs in silence,
hushed,
because I know you're troubled,
tracing with magnetic fingers across
your chest in effort to draw out
the heaviness that tosses about
the surface of the ocean inside of
you?
What sentence would comfort as well
as my hand held in yours,
wandering
the paths of between your fingers
while watching the rise and fall of breath
I'd read as code,
following the patterns,
knowing by a change in rhythm I found my
mark?
What is the tiding with the effect
of looking up, while tucked under your arm,
into you eyes, reflecting them boldly
with my own, that hold in pupils and pigments
more than strings of atoms: understanding
of your struggle to tame the roaring lion in your
heart?
I have yet to find these sentiments, and so
I lie with yearning in my heart
in silence, fumbling for something --
anything to approximate, but words do not
come, static fills the space between us
and instead of my cheek against
your form, I press against plastic, glass, and
radiation.