the wedding


BRIDE

Tell me I am a beauty

My skin is crystalline and my legs

Are long and scrubbed. No sign of

One tadpole cage. Perhaps now doing

Bohemian polka like his property owner in

Distress. The one special morphine

To my lost Eden. The strange beauty in me.

GROOM

Tell her she’s my chamomile dessert

I ate the stag whore and this is

Where my sentences starts. Make

My cuffs spongy and warm.

As I wait for the beloved cutter every Friday

From now on

Then I’ll tell him

To have brutal hands

PRIEST

Pooh – pooh. My throat aches

From this piteous yelping

I am tired from the smell of her perfume

And the shade of his foundation

God, make me my usual puritan and spit

KISS THE DAMN BRIDE!

Oh but the cleavage needs a bigger arena

And this fairy partisan

A hard ram to pounce about in tux.

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