Youth still covered me as a veil when I went out to meet the daughters of the land. And a moonmoth beat within my chest like a caged thing.
The dust-packed roads lay naked, helpless, bathed in blue under the stars. My trembling body ascended into the secret chambers on high.
My wind-whipped November cheeks stood as my blushing maidenhood.
And I tarried long at the wine, and sought after strong drink, and I found myself a littered rag; cut and burned and stabbed through with filthiness.
And hollowed out, the moon whispered no more sweet things, and cast the tatters to the wind.