Shapes and shapelessness seems bigger in the dark.

I would be like Pandora and open my mouth
to let those venomous, pondering creatures
of doubt and alone spew out, but I would never see
just how terrifying they look. They seem massive

in my mind. And you, quiet and back-turned,
without harshness, breathe deeply but do not move
our bed an inch (is it ours? I would ask
but a slippery pink beast might issue forth).

You are smaller, and less strong, when I cannot see
the muscles of your arms and the strength of your fingers.
I want to ask you to take away my box of worries
and put it beyond my reach. But, I loathe to ask
since I am no waifish woman of yore and you
are modern with lines and tendons.