Here Comes

(a flip through BRIDE's) The silver spoons were warbling their absurd musical names when, drawing back her veil (illusion), she stepped into the valentine-shaped bathtub, & slid her perfect bubbles in between the perfect bubbles. Oh brilliantly complex as compound interest, her diamond gleams (Forever) on the edge of a weddingcake-shaped bed. What happens there is merely icing since a snakepit of dismembered douchebag coils (all writhing) awaits her on the tackier back pages. Dearly beloved, let's hymn her (& Daddy) down the aisle with epithalamia composed for Ovulen ads: 'It's the right of every (married) couple to wait to space to wait' -& antistrophes appended by the Pope. Good Grief-the groom! Has she (or we) entirely forgot? She'll dream him whole. American type with ushers halfbacks headaches drawbacks backaches & borrowed suit stuffed in a borrowed face (or was it the reverse?) Oh well. Here's he: part coy pajamas part mothered underwear & of course an enormous prick full of money.