The love hotel under the overcast afternoon sky. Thick mottled clouds. Two rabbits perched on a crescent moon, backs turned to the viewer. Earth and sky mixed, how lust has room for all seasons. The love hotel is about 100 yards away from the prison. Do barred dreams infused with lust bounce off walls and rattle cages nightly? Many fevers for many seasons. Ominous clouds, threaded and tasseled with veins of brightness, bits of light filtering by degrees within the brooding bulbs of mist. Two rabbits, snuggling side by side, one male, one female, the male bigger, the female’s head resting on the male’s shoulder, both perched piningly on a crescent moon, which, within the interior of its apex, displays a hovering heart pierced by an arrow. In the conjugal cast of the love hotel’s fast season, valentines prefer dark.