Out of sawdust and bone
marrow, I marry you. Softly
waiting on the water’s bed,
Lilly waits with nothing
in Her tender hands. ******,
they call Her into receive
communion with minist’rial
blood running to Her feet.
I will marry you after
you place my flesh
and blood under your
tongue. Tuck away
the paper splinter,
solid in its abdication
of sin. Sing the charity  
stuck off your lips.
There’s somebody buried
underneath the altar.
There’s somebody’s blood
left in the wine.  
We’re chewing on his
bones. We’re picking
out the life inside. There’s  
life left between Her  
legs, there’s stale purity
knocking from within
the aumbry. White
ages to ivory as Water
bleeds to wine.

She says she does.
She says “I do.”