By Tom Rapp
The aisle it was long and dark
Garbage cans kept the watch
The chapel walls were old and lined
The streetlamp lit its mouth
The altar was the lesser half of an old forgotten couch
The bride stumbled nervously
A box fell in her flight
She cursed her trusting foolishness for leaving
The sanctuary of the light
A crumbled linen handkerchief
A little girl's fright
The groom followed slowly and the wine dripped from his chin
Panting that the holy doors would part and let him in
His candle burned with whiteness, stiff and violent
The sound of breath in darkness
Gave away the bride
His eyes said: I am the body
And her's said: I am the blood
And as the candle pushed below
Exploding wax and fear
The handkerchief fell from her hands
And as usual there were tears
The aisle it was long and dark
Garbage cans kept the watch
The chapel walls were old and lined
The streetlamp lit its mouth
The altar was the lesser half of an old forgotten couch
The bride stumbled nervously
A box fell in her flight
She cursed her trusting foolishness for leaving
The sanctuary of the light
A crumbled linen handkerchief
A little girl's fright
The groom followed slowly and the wine dripped from his chin
Panting that the holy doors would part and let him in
His candle burned with whiteness, stiff and violent
The sound of breath in darkness
Gave away the bride
His eyes said: I am the body
And her's said: I am the blood
And as the candle pushed below
Exploding wax and fear
The handkerchief fell from her hands
And as usual there were tears