My Men Are Like Blankets

My men are like blankets.

I grow attached to every thread that makes them up.
On the threads lay oils of scent which I crave.
Scent which I crave and rub my nose into,
Inhaling the essence of where he's been today or the day before. 

I want them to cover me, to warm my body
And lay with me.
Lay with me in bliss, lay with me in sadness or in fear.
In the dark, protect me when I'm scared.

The feel of the fabric against my skin,
The warmth of the personality that dwells within the fibers. 
Some parts scratchier or silkier than others.
I let my fingers rove frequently and slowly over my favorite spots.
And I love every flaw because
As I discover them, they become more "mine".

 I need a blanket.