Matrimony Poem by Jennifer Strubel

I can see it now,
the long asile up ahead.
Where a river of crimson awaits me -
separating our two hearts.
The church bells scream
such an eloquent melody.
Constricting stems so tightly,
tiny thorns plundge into fleshy palms.
The delicate trickle of blood makes its way
down gauntlet gloves.
Sticky silk,
grossly absorbed.
Turning all that was pure into something else.
Like the porcelain lilies -
a redolent of death.