Elizabeth,
my worship is a secret.
Loose the chalice for me,
from the tangles of your long brown hair,
let it out.

Hand me the cruet.
It’s this moment that I speak of.
Oh, to bless my please
in the rancor of your mhyrr-stained arms.
Let me in!

Maybe I could have shown you
how my mouth is like a baby’s.
Were you ever too told
to make holy of an infant’s tongue?
Let it go,
Let it go,
Let it go,
Let it go.