I drew him over me like a cloak

This morning I woke up alone
It was the kind of aloneness that stretches out like a desert on both sides
I was alone and it surprised me so I looked around
I was alone in my head
And it could have been that momentarily I had entered another dimension
but I knew I hadn't because I had the sense of time
I knew without a doubt that I had been alone all night
That deep inside me I had rolled away and he had rolled away
We had rolled away to the edges and placed the universe in between us
And so even though I resisted it
And I liked my aloneness even though it was base
...Wait! No! I didn't like my aloneness.  It felt like I wasn't breathing.  But it was very still.  And it was the stillness that I liked.
And at least I was clean.  I wasn't always-merging, breathing into-breathing out of ... rubbed up in the earth, rubbed against.  Rubbed raw.  I felt fragile.  I didn't/couldn't stand to be touched.   Just for a while.
And so even though I resisted it I drew him over me like a cloak.
I drew his flesh and his skin and his hair over me like a cloak.
My bones received him.  My bones that had lain on the bed became covered at last with flesh.
But it was his flesh and something in me wanted to reject it, wanted to keep it, wanted to cast it off, wanted to clutch it tight around me in case it slipped off onto the bed.
And in drawing it around me I found that his lungs had found their way inside my chest bones
and I began to draw in careful breaths.