My feet are;
Ensconced
Enshrined
Encompassed
Encrusted
Entrenched
Within the Woollen Interior. Yes, it is most certainly cooling down again.
The bobbing reflects the departing temperature. Up and down, my left legs is moving like the pin of a seismograph that has just had its world shaken. A vain attempt at feeling warmer.
My room becomes a fridge in winter. Making cold all the components therein, how unfortunate it seems that I too, am usually found therein. Making cold my limbs. Bone, flesh, blood. Separating my consciousness from my encoldened body. Separation more ephemeral. Why should this acute notice of temperature mean that I am less of the now more noticed whole? I DON’T WANT TO BE ASSOCIATED WITH THE COLD.
The bobbing swaps legs.
You aren’t making much sense Griffen.
Someone should make a slipper for your entire body. Now that would be a Woollen interior and a half.
The contents of my fridge are;
Bed
Shelf
Books
Chicken carcass
Readings
Desk
Butter
Blood
Computer