To the Putting Out of Innocence

Drink up, drink up
To the putting out of innocence
Smolder like the eyes of
the blind whore

Rose that withers but ne'er dies
Stagnant and reeking
Reeling in the open breeze
Concave like
the breast of that whore
Ripping with past hands
of flesh coiling round
the life that once breathed inside; putting out that innocence

But no more, no more
Only sorrow and pricked wind
And chaff between
the cheap legs of that Wonder
That wander o' nights alone
searching vainly for her innocence