I'm on the wrong side of the world,
And my toes are cold.

I will bury them deep beneath the layers and insulate until i can't feel.

Perhaps upon doing the same to the whole of my person,
I'll be too warm to feel anything at all.

Anything except, of course,
The persistent motion of my undulating breath,
Muffled and entrapped beneath the covers,
Surrounding me in the rejected.

I would feel at home.