The Wedding Planners

We need a preacher who’ll say up in here instead of herein.
Our vows should reference calla lilies and the snowy pistils they
jab ardently at our faces. Let’s place their linty, foul-mouthed kiss
at the center of satin table cloths white as bee boxes and
us buzzing like the ichthyic insects we’ll invent: “coddle-
fish” finning the air, murmuring for words beyond civil and
ceremony, beyond moderation, all our senses under assault.

More Poems by Gregory Pardlo