Vehementia Delectationis
More close than clothes or vestment sewn to please,
a film so near that pain is left outside,
a garment wrapped around of scented breeze,
we wear this cloak that self and soul may hide
from all their cares, and, safely sealed inside,
we, happy, wait, as infant held in womb,
as corpse, protected, rotting, laid in tomb.
