It is a joy

It is a joy to find myself with you. To place myself next to you, secure a place beside, align myself along. 

It is a joy to casually pull myself into you, wrap an arm around you and breathe in an air of you. 

Comfort. Familiarity. 

A fire in the hearth when I come home. A scent of a memory. A small and tiny candle that is overcome by a day but burns there nonetheless. 

Perhaps just a tiny fucking fractured splinter in the doorway of a day that is long and complicated and you wouldn't understand even if I told you but you still stick into me as a distraction. 

A single slap of a wiper on the windshield. God I am barely a distraction. Why would you pop into a thought like a burst bulb. A broken light, a bad idea. 

I think it is the curve of you into me. It is a craving. 

And that is all it will ever be.