When I don't want to quit this room. This, meaning, the wide encompassing buzz of space that exists between your body and my body. It has less to do with the arrangement of your furniture. Or the coordinates to arrive at the place of unlocking the door where you live. And more to do with the tiny attic window you've left open for me. To crawl into. And the way the light of you shines from it into me. So that to leave or to return are options no longer.