What I miss

When I first get back to my own home,
I will climb into my bed, big as the ocean
and begin to nap. I will sleep
until I cannot force myself to sleep any more
and apologize to no one. My dog will sleep
right there on the bed with me and we will both
sleep the best we have in months.

My second day back in my own home
I will wake up and take a shower and I will not
put on a stitch of clothing. I will make calls,
business calls, get the land line turned on,
get internet in the house again, get the bills
sent back to my own address instead of my fathers,
turn on my netflix account. I will then
watch at least two movies and call for a pizza.
I will tape the money to the door with a note:
"Set the pizza down. Knock. Go back to your car.
Today I cannot be convinced to put on clothes."

My third day back in my own home, I believe,
I will love myself several times in a row,
as frequently as I please, and I will be
loud about it. No one will complain.
When I feel the need to do something
that some might consider rude, like burp
or fart, I shall also do that just as loud
as I please. There's a chance my dog
might look at me funny, but lord knows
he does it too. I will leave my dishes
in the sink and I will lay in the floor
and I will listen to loud music and I will
still be naked by the way and I will cook
naked too and watch movies naked and then

I will put on some clothes and invite over
everyone I have ever loved and throw every pillow
I own into a pile in the floor and say,
Friends, here is where we cuddle. I missed you.
And it will be almost as if I had never left
except there will be Mexican artwork on the walls.