It’s the only place where I feel safe, under the  
Warmth of blankets covering my bare skin. As he tries 
To reach out a hand to acknowledge my presence, for me to  
Acknowledge his, I curl over harder, inching farther away to the edge. 
All to show that I am not okay, that I crave this space of my own. 

I fight over the act versus the explanation that should exist.  
My actions, or inactions, has become my only voice.  
I remain silent when he prods to know if I’m okay or need anything. 
I need space, more space than this tiny apartment allows. 

“We don’t have to...” I mumble in reply. 
“You mean you don’t want to.” He understands more than I can say. 

I wish to leave this tension, this room closing in  
but these covers, this tiny space, I cling to as my own. 
He waits for a movement as I lay there  
clinching, hoping, waiting for it to pass.

He tells me to breathe. 
How can I relax when I just want to scream?