It is the half breaths after panic that strike fear worst,
the slight tears after heart rate wild and the need to flee makes me
hide under covers. It is the squirming against inaction I’m too afraid
to move from, but too scared to remain where I’m at.
It may be the fear I’m clinging to with knuckles white to match the sheets and the way they press into the mattress with our weight.
Of course, not fear from you, but of you inside.
It is the wait between getting undressed on the bed, and
you coming from the bathroom ready for me like I’m ready too.