The speaker is in love, or something close to it, with a person who doesn't feel the same way. They tiptoe around this sleeping, shut-off figure, and what they see is painfully clear: one person belongs and the other doesn't. "You don't, I do" sums up the whole imbalance in four words. The speaker can only watch from the outside, searching for a way in and finding "no holes," no weak spot to slip through. There's even a flicker of bitterness in the guess that the other person might open up for someone else.
Then the poem shifts from observing to begging. The speaker admits to craving and starving, and the requests grow bigger and more violent: crash into me, hollow me, fill me up. By the end, though, the demands shrink to something simple: "Just be. Be near and be for me." The mood is hungry and vulnerable, a mix of frustration and tenderness, with a plain, almost whispered honesty.