The speaker seems to be caught between longing and restlessness. The opening question wonders whether a first kiss, the thrill of new intimacy, might quiet the noisy "discourse" of the mind, all the arguing and overthinking that gets in the way of simply being present. It reads as a hopeful question, but an unsure one.
Then comes a puzzled line: how can an "only world" feel so small? The phrase holds a tension. This is the one world we have, yet it can seem too little, as if the speaker expected it to hold more. There's a quiet frustration here, maybe even a sense of being confined.
The final lines turn to a strange request: "tell me to build again / and borrow some pain." The speaker wants to be urged to start over, and accepts that rebuilding will hurt. Judging by the tone, the poem feels spare, searching, and a little weary, but not hopeless. Wanting to rebuild is itself a small act of hope.