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Of all the tender taught and innocent |
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Sacraments ive tangled with |
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Celibate or seldom split |
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Separate as which was which |
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Chased in desperate ways |
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And raised a fitful face |
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Patience praised in grace or day |
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In face of these latter days |
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But what such traces must remain |
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Of a phase lately lain to waste |
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And what such fates we to betray |
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As your sacred legs gave way |
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As sure as you are pure my love |
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A touch is good and so its done |
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And woe we spoke in tongues my love |
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Would surely not send from above |
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All the slender soft and supplicant |
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Sacraments ive sinned against |
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As if in which i might relive |
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Your sanguine skin or sins therein would |
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(prize and tie) decide if you must |
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But faith has nothing left for us |
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In stolen moments as such as this |
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By which i have placed my trust but |
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Grace has no such place for us anymore oh |
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As sure as they were pure my love |
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Ive chased of us in everyone |
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And though i know all fates succumb my love |
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What sanctifies my swollen sum |
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But the tender taught and innocent |
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Freckled fresh ive tampered with |
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Sucked and split or (?) |
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Vainly take this place of you |
