human beings

you tell me that when we get married 
you want to be pronounced human beings

& i hear a cliff grow where a whole herd 
of dresses fling themselves in to the water.

from a distance they look like bed sheets
or possibly like the body-less wings of large birds.

a husband is crawling into a light bulb 
to become a filament & the wives plant 

their heels in the potted lilies on an altar.
i think of us as orchids, everyone wants 

to be orchids. i now pronounce you orchids.
the wives all chewing their jewelry & 

discovering that it was always just 
rock candy. the husbands trying to find 

their rings in the mouths of other people
they had once loved too hard. i want to

take your rings off the nightstand & plant
them in the yard behind my house, wait for

them to burst open as seeds, grow a bush of 
all kinds of rings, each always ready to

fit anyone's fingers. the amethyst
& the sapphire. the husbands & the wives

looking in the windows, jealous of 
humans beings. a veil sprouts from 

my forehead & i cut it off with 
a pairing knife. everything turning

white frosting, the kitchen table,
a soft chiffon cake, take a plastic forkful,

the coffee mugs sinking in, the chairs;
sugar drunk strawberries. this is all

so sticky. the husband & the wives
feed each other the house, breaking 

off the shingles, gnawing the mailbox.
i ask myself each day what it means 

to be a human beings with you.
the answer is again & again

pronounced, your mouth a ring.