Of all the tender taut and innocent Sacraments ive tangled with Celibate or seldom split Separate as which was writ Chaste in desperate ways And raised of fitful faiths Patience praised and grace ordained In face of these latter days But what such traces must remain Of a phase lately lain to waste And what such fates we two betray As your sacred legs gave way As sure as you are pure my love "A touch of blood and so its done" And though 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 Put prides and tithes aside 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 taut and innocent Freckled flesh ive tampered with Supped and split or suffered through- Whod vainly take this place of you