of all the tender taught and innocent
sacraments ive tangled with
celibate or seldom split
separate as which was which
chased in desperate ways
and raised a fitful face
patience praised in grace or day
in face of these latter days
but what such traces must remain
of a phase lately lain to waste
and what such fates we to betray
as your sacred legs gave way
as sure as you are pure my love
a touch is good and so its done
and woe we spoke in tongues my love
would surely not send from above
all the slender soft and supplicant
sacraments ive sinned against
as if in which i might relive
your sanguine skin or sins therein would
(prize and tie) decide if you must
but faith has nothing left for us
in stolen moments as such as this
by which i have placed my trust but
grace has no such place for us anymore oh
as sure as they were pure my love
ive chased of us in everyone
and though i know all fates succumb my love
what sanctifies my swollen sum
but the tender taught and innocent
freckled fresh ive tampered with
sucked and split or (?)
vainly take this place of you