“Give me some pink,” I say;
For I’ve always loved the light blush of roses.
“They love Red,” said the Madame,
Handing me a box of rogue and lipsticks.
For countless nights since
Lusty hounds have torn at my body.
But my soul—
My soul they could not touch.
For long ago I had buried my soul
Beneath the semi-darkness of this unholy whore-house.
And in the cold cold years that passed
Never once have I sought its warmth.
‘Coz if I did—
I shall burn in its unforgiving wrath.