Wedding bells, of sorts

On the Verge of Epithalamium


M.F. was some sort of modern dramatist a kind
of combination voice coach and counselor
unable to vanquish the temptation to be seen
and heard saying you can stand on ceremony
or lie in waiting or simply sit on your hands
but please stay gainfully aware that

be you bereft of
blatantly better options
it remains rightfully preferable to
lop a little logic off your
largesseless alliteration
and affirm with ardor
—in these exact and very words—

I’ll aim to amble down the aisle to urge her
to go ahead and conclude the proceedings
with the alacrity of an actress who can’t
resist rest and the audacity of an actor
so dedicated to his lore and craft that
aft and fore melt within a vessel
of acquatic merger