Letter from Vacarearchy Prison (excerpt II)

The essence of which is that finest preserve

where fear becomes a rind for your kind curiosity.

Now and then, battles lose focus from a stunned start.

Intense hunger, a bone cracked and set to understand

the nude blood standing before moral and virtue.


Somehow, about, I tend to discover yet

how you desire me to be without clothes.


Although I, the tailor, defected long ago,

I may not measure you on that account.

Is a tone's taste contingent upon the mastication of mood?

A red suede leather upon verdurous ground!

No, it is not the taste, but the first feel comes

and goes - as one is notified of a grace. A grace

Standing naked among the challenged.