A poet I'm not,
yet I find myself seeing
your clothes are too tight.

I am fortunate
in that my clothes, my city,
are comfortable.

Yet our friend's clothing
was too black, jagged, itchy:
uncomfortable.

Perhaps he had known
it's easier to make friends
by tearing it off.

Better to make friends
bare-bodied, than with clothes that
carry a red stench.

Penned by my hand on the 22nd of Valnuary, in the year 645 AF.