How We Have Changed (Revision 1.2)

[Lizzie]

Revision

I watch you sleeping,
nestled in the depression
of the bed, that my body left,
in a lingering warmth I no longer feel. -- I actually liked that the speaker is making an assumption about the emotional temperature on the other side of the bed -- it reveals how the main character perceives the other (perhaps comfortable with the status quo? basking in stolen glow? we don't get to know). It hints at a greener grass mentality and maybe also sadness or resentment; after all, the narrator made the depression with their own body and they don't even get to enjoy the warmth of that. They are kicked over to the cold side! 
Has this chill always been -- I feel like this is the backstory, even though it's just a question. I like the mystery of not knowing, but that's just personal preference. I can see how you would want to use something with more of a punch. Words can be so inadequate 
a part of me? The moon leaches
light from my skin like smoke
rising from a fire, and I settle 
into the darkness of our small room.
The sallow light rests on you, -- makes me think of sickness or aging
holds you motionless,
immutable in amber. -- these three lines give me an angle that I didn't see before, the inaccessible quality of the other person. Gives this chasm a sense of finality.
The slats of the blinds rattle 
in the night breeze, and their shadows 
cover you in bars. I feel the hair
on my arms bristle at the captivity. -- I don't know if I see the main character as sinister (although, I did get that sense on my very first read of line one! Ha!), but there is a sense that perhaps nature (the sallow light) or modern life (the shadows of the blinds) is somehow conspiratorial. I interpreted the "bristling" as either fear or anger. Either way, the ambivalent quality of desire is highlighted: the hunter wants to hunt but also to have the certainty of the next meal.

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Edit 1: LizzieP, Achebe, Kolemath: Made some changes from your feedback.

Original

I watch you while you sleep,
nestled into the depression
of the bed, that my body left,
a shared warmth I no longer feel.
Has this emptiness always been
a part of me? The moon leaches
the light from my skin like smoke
rising from a fire, and I settle
into the darkness of our small room.
The pale light rests on you,
holds you motionless,
like a photograph, a captured moment.
The slats of the blinds rattle 
in the night breeze, and their shadows
cover you in bars. I feel the hair
on my arms bristle at the captivity.

~~

* A NaPM poem that I wanted to workshop.

Your big ideas here are compelling, and they shine through beautifully.