After

Gertrude Stein is better than an alarm clock. I lick chocolate off of my arm to clean it; the goal wasn't to eat the chocolate. That is the integral difference here. I have two fleece blankets, one knit blanket, and a comforter. I'm taking an inventory of the sediment between me and the air. Carbon dating does not work as well as tree rings, so I'm staying in tonight without you. I wish you'd have fun in your new life and leave your old life at home with me, where it is dying. I change out the bedpan and sit by the side. You have coveted one of my blankets. It is keeping you from the air. You are keeping your teeth from me. I am keeping my candy covered arms from you. I am waiting to wake up. I am waiting for you to be there. But nothing rings, it just silently whispers "he always thinks when he knows and he always knows," as my house stands twinkling in the moonlight.