They took strange vows.
She swore a lot,
And he promised never to tell.
Life threw them together sometimes,
And then the never-oaths would come—
Heaving like the passion,
Cussing like a sail
Against the forces of adversity,
As they cut the bounded main.
Contiguous was only the silken thread
Of Shakespeare’s sluttish time.
Webbed linens stuck with yew
At thoughts of symphonic harmonies unrehearsed.
He rolled as in death, closed his eyes,
Released, and she spewed,