I'd offer back my cupped hands if they brimmed
with sincere water,
or if they sheltered some soft-winged thing from harm -
i really would, i swear.

But what I hold in these two palms is blackened with despair
and filth
and every kind of lie - I'd die before I'd bring it to you, most Beloved,
nor will I ever grieve you with my shame,
these hands that hold this heart cannot but maim the ritual greeting
friends offer friends.
Please let me go and
offer both broken hands to the jailor. He understands
the price I owe.

You shall not go.

You do not know how willingly I've burnt & charred & cut my chest apart...
You do not know my daily will to sin, you did not see my love depart...

I do. I did. I know your heart. Unclasp your hands and give it all to me.
Do you not know, dear friend, that I can set you free?