so shed your clothes.
like a child who cannot bear the incumbrance.
free from the sticky cling of overheated cloth
your skin can then share the air.

no longer hide the imperfections.
the marks, the moles, the scars, the hair, the flab.
and cool yourself with the generated air,
rotors at your command--
set just to your liking;
consideration passé.

no more fashion.
no more folly.
just a bare chest,
and no hand on that heart.

i've always preferred the cold.
you can always put more on to bundle up,
it doesn't work the same the other way.
and comfort just can't be found.

so wrap yourself up,
you've seen them in the desert--
they know how it's done.
because either way
sooner or later
the sun is going to come out.
and you'll wake from this night's dream,
burned or frozen.

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