Ill-Considered.

I want to get married in Las Vegas
on same-day notice
by a roman catholic bishop
who I saved from a mugging
to a girl who is exquisite
but she wasn't confirmed,
and so she consequently has to take a second middle name
at the altar where we'll turn
and face the celebrant and witness
as we falter through our vows
- I go with the written business,
but she's all "I made these up!
I put in a lot of thought!"
- the bishop's thinking "maybe I just shouldn't have ought,"
but our little farce unfolds as the Cathedral looks down,
we get through it all okay, and then
it's time to hit the town
and maybe gamble all our winnings
for the rest of our lives,

which is what all such beginnings do, I guess -

'til we die.